Pavlov's Bitch By The Fissure King Part I: The Subject "I'm very sorry," said Dr. Howard, and he sounded like he meant it. "You've been a great subject, but I'm afraid I'm finished with the experimental side of things for the summer. I'm going to spend the rest of it working on the analysis. Perhaps one of the other professors is running an experiment you'd be interested in? Or one of the grad students?" "No," said Andrea, sounding disappointed, "I've talked to them all. They've all got all the subjects they need. It's okay though… I don't really need the work." Indeed, Andrea didn't need the work. Her parents paid her tuition and her rent, and gave her enough money for food. But they weren't well off, and couldn't give her enough to fuel her entertainment budget. So she WANTED the work. Because she didn't have any major expenses, just the occasional night out, she didn't need a real job, even a part time one (and, truth be told, she was too lazy to bother getting one). Volunteering for psychological experiments was the perfect solution; they paid well if you considered how long they took to complete (usually about 25$ for an hour-long experiment), usually required very little effort (most simply involved reading something or watching a video, and then filling out a questionnaire), and best of all, Andrea was fascinated by them. A couple of months ago, she had completed her third year of her undergraduate psychology program at McGill Uni- versity in Montreal. The field called to her; she longed to understand the intricacies of the human mind. She could hardly wait to get to grad school and conduct some real research of her own, but in the meantime, she was content to settle for being a subject and seeing the way experiments were conducted from that end of things. Dr. Howard was still talking to her. "You could try looking in the classifieds… occasionally some company or private psychologist conducts an experiment and needs some volun- teers." Andrea didn't think that seemed incredibly promising, but she thanked Dr. Howard anyway and wandered out the psychology building's front doors and onto campus. She studied the faces of the few summer students who were bustling about here and there, but failed to find anyone she recognized. She stood and watched them go by for a short while, thinking about how odd it was that each of these faces had a mind behind it, a mind which was completely separate from hers, perceiving the Universe in an entirely different way. More than ever, she wanted to understand the human mind, to understand people. She wanted to be able to see the minds behind the faces. Without understanding the way people think, she reasoned, their actions would seem to be completely random. Because a person's life is mostly governed by their own actions and the actions of the people around them, un- derstanding a person's mind, and therefore the motivation for their actions leads to an un- derstanding of one's own life, a useful piece of knowledge to be sure. Andrea wasn't quite at that stage yet, and so she found life mysterious and uncertain. For some reason, that bothered her more than it seemed to bother others. Her basement apartment was a short walk away from campus, and ten minutes later she was standing at her door, turning the key in the lock, the profound thoughts she'd had on her walk home already lost from her mind. She subscribed to the Montreal Gazette, and a copy of it was resting by her door; she scooped it up, opened the door and walked in. The apartment was a modest 2 ½, with low ceilings, but a hardwood floor. Andrea headed im- mediately for the fridge to get herself a beer, tossing the Gazette onto the kitchen table on her way. It was early July, and today was the hottest day of the year so far. Even the short walk home had caused her to work up a sweat. In Andrea's family, nudity was never considered a big deal, and so she was more comfort- able the less she was wearing, especially on days like this. Taking a quick swig from her beer bottle, she set it down on the table and proceeded to pull off her tank top, kicking the door to her apartment closed as she did so. She wiped her forehead with the tank top and tossed it to the side, removing her shoes, socks, pants and her bra. Now clad only in her panties, she grabbed her beer and went into her bedroom. She flopped herself down on her futon bed, and held the bottom of the beer bottle against her forehead, which had already begun to drip with sweat again. Idly wishing she was back at her parents' air-conditioned home in Toronto, she struggled back up to a sitting position and took another sip of her beer before setting it down on the floor next to her calf. She looked at herself in the full length mirror she had hanging on the wall by her bed and she wondered, not for the first time, if she was attractive. She certainly wasn't unattractive; she was short, but in good shape, 5'3", 100 lbs. She had her flaws, sure; she didn't like the slight upward turn to her nose, and she wished her teeth were a bit straighter and her lips a bit fuller, but none of these problems was glaring; in fact, Andrea was probably the only one who conciously noticed them. She liked her breasts though, perfect C-cups with nip- ples like pencil erasers. And her long red hair and green eyes gave her a certain distinct- iveness that earned her a certain amount of attention. Holding one leg out straight in front of her, she turned slightly from side to side to study it. She was tempted to think that her thighs were fat, but during her three years of psychology, she'd learned that most women think that, that such notions were an unfortunate consequence of modern day social psy- chology and usually had little basis in reality. Andrea didn't like vain people, and resisted the urge to study herself further. Remembering what her prof had said about the possibility of psych experiments being advertised in the classifieds, she got up and retrieved the newspaper from the kitchen, then returned to her room. Tossing the newspaper down on the futon, she flopped down on her chest beside it. Grabbing her beer, she flipped the newspaper open to the classifieds with her free hand. She began to skim them disinterestedly, sipping her beer now and then. Failing to have something leap out at her, she sighed quietly and returned to the beginning of the classi- fieds to actually examine them one by one. By the end of the first column, Andrea was beginning to get bored. By the middle of the second, she was finding her attention waning. Rolling onto her side, she put down her beer and slipped her hand into her panties, half-heartedly masturbating as she often did when bored at home. It was rarely a very sexual thing; it was just something that felt nice and helped keep her focussed on what she was doing. The fingers of her left hand gently stroked her inner labia while those of her right slid down the page, moving from ad to ad, keeping her place as she read. Fairly soon, though, her left hand's activities had an effect precisely the opposite of that which was intended; she was surprised to find herself getting quite turned on, which made it harder to concentrate, rather than easier. Andrea had broken up with her last boyfriend several months earlier. For a few weeks af- ter the breakup, she had found herself in a state of near-continual sexual frustration, and had been forced to pleasure herself several times a day just to keep herself from feeling like she was losing her mind. She had eventually adapted to the lack of sex in her life, and had all but lost interest in it. For some reason, though, she found herself to be quite horny. A determined girl, Andrea decided that if she didn't read the classifieds now, she never would, so she withdrew her hand and sat up, going back to reading and trying to fix all her attention on the tiny black words on the page. She grabbed her beer again and after tak- ing a swig held it between her thighs while picking up the newspaper with both hands. The condensation on the bottle and the sweat on her thighs made her hold on the bottle tenuous at best. It soon slipped down the indendation her weight was making in the futon, and the base of the bottle game to rest against the crotch of her panties. She could feel the icy cold of the bottle through the fabric of her panties, and it felt quite good. Really good, in fact. "Fuck it," she muttered out loud and tossed the newspaper down. Lifting her hips and slip- ping her panties off, she lay back down and went back to stroking herself, the cold beer bottle resting against her thigh. After a few seconds she stopped and opened her eyes, glancing at the beer bottle. She hesitated, glancing around the room as if she expected someone to be there watching her. She chewed on her lower lip for a few seconds, contemplating, but then grabbed the beer bottle and slid her hips up to the edge of the futon. Looking up, she made eye contact with herself in the mirror. "Andrea," she said to herself, "what's gotten into you? You've never had the urge to do something like THIS before." Laughing a bit at herself, she looked back down at her crotch and, biting her lip again, slid the neck of the bottle into herself. She gasped at the feeling of the cold glass in her pussy, a feeling she'd never experienced before. It wasn't really good or bad, just weird. Before she could decide if she liked it or not, the glass had warmed up to her body temperature. Experimentally, she slid the neck of the bottle in and out a few times. It felt good, so she kept doing it. Eventually, she began to pick up the pace, pushing it in and pulling it out more quickly and roughly. Pretty soon, she was lying back on the bed, fucking herself with the bottle she held in one hand and frantically rubbing her clit with the other. She eventu- ally built herself up to a climax, and gave herself the best self-induced orgasm she'd ever had. Pressing the bottom of the beer bottle against her forehead again to cool herself off, she shot a sidelong glance at the newspaper. And there, before her eyes, was: "Experimental subjects wanted for psychological experiment. Experiment duration 1 hr., pays 25$. Call 484-9346 between 1 and 4 PM." She looked over at her digital clock. The red numbers glowed 4:37. Deciding that she would call at 1 o'clock the next day, Andrea lay in her self-created afterglow for a few min- utes before hauling herself to her feet to start cooking dinner for herself.
Part II: The Apparatus It had been so good the first time that Andrea had decided to masturbate with the beer bottle again just before going to bed. It had been even better the second time, since she was refining her technique, and she fell asleep almost instantly afterwards, sleeping better than she had in ages. She woke up to find sunlight streaming through the small window set high up on the wall of her bedroom. She was comfortable and relaxed, and decided to stay in bed and doze for a while. After drifting in and out of sleep for a while, Andrea decided it might be time to get up. Checking her clock, she noticed with shock that it was already 2:23. The hours for calling the psych experiment place were one to four, so it shouldn't really matter, but she had intended to call immediately after one, just in case they filled their need for subjects before she called in. Andrea got up and pulled on a pair of panties. She was feeling kind of sexy after last night, and chose a g-string, which she rarely wore. Grabbing the newspaper, she headed for the phone. Opening to the ad that she had cir- cled, she dialed the number in the ad. The phone rang a few times before a woman an- swered. "Hello, Dr. Ridgewell's psychology lab, can I help you?" There was something about the woman's voice that Andrea didn't like. It had an edge on it, something hard to place: Not threatening, not abraisive, exactly. It was just… severe, humourless. "Yes," replied Andrea, "I'm interested in being a subject in the experiment Dr. Ridgewell is running." "Very good," said the woman and gave Andrea an address, "be here as soon as you can." Andrea sensed that the woman was about to hang up without saying goodbye and blurted out, "Hold on!" "Yes?" said the woman, a note of impatience in her voice. "Could you tell me what the nature of the experiment is?" "I'm sorry," said the woman, sounding annoyed, "but the nature of psychological experi- ments is that to obtain valid results, the subjects cannot know what is actually being tested until after the experiment is concluded." With that, the woman hung up. Andrea mentally kicked herself. Three years of psychology courses and she had let her excitement cause her to forget one of the first things she had learned. Of course they couldn't tell her what was being tested. If she knew what they were looking for, her responses would be subconciously affected, even if she didn't delib- erately attempt to botch their results. The woman at the desk probably now thought that Andrea was a complete idiot. Andrea hated that. She couldn't stand it when she gave people a bad first impression; she had to remind herself that she herself had a bad first impression of the woman as well. That made her feel slightly better. Before leaving, Andrea decided to make herself look good. She put on a short skirt suit, which her mother had bought her a couple of years ago for job interviews. It was too hot for stockings, so she just slipped on a pair of high-heeled sandals. For reasons she could- n't explain, even to herself, she took the jacket and blouse off again and switched her bra for one of a push-up variety. When she put the blouse back on, she left an extra button undone to reveal just a little bit of cleavage. She shrugged the jacket back on, and went to the bathroom to tastefully apply a little bit of makeup and pull her long red hair back into a ponytail. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she decided that she looked the best she had in weeks; she didn't even think her thighs looked fat. Satisfied, she headed out the door. Her opinion that she looked good was confirmed on the subway. She couldn't help but notice that she was getting a lot of looks from the guys. Andrea didn't really like the atten- tion, and stared down at her feet. She thought about doing up the button on her blouse to hide her cleavage, but she couldn't think of a way to do it that wasn't obvious. So she en- dured the lusty glances, blushing lightly, and fairly soon she was at her stop. The address she had been given was about four or five blocks uphill from the subway sta- tion. Andrea looked about for a bus she could take, but there didn't seem to be any wait- ing, so she started walking. Although slightly cooler than the day before, it was still swel- teringly hot. Worse, it was humid today. Andrea very quickly began to sweat. Halfway to the lab, she removed her jacket and slung it over her shoulder. It helped a bit, but she was still breathing heavily and red in the face when she arrived at the lab. The building didn't look at all as she had expected it to. It was a very run-down three story building, part of a row of identical attached buildings. The third floor windows were cracked and boarded up. Andrea realized that there probably wasn't much money out there for independent psychological researchers, so it sort of made sense after all. She was about to go in, when a guy came out the door. He was tall and thin, somewhat cute in a geeky sort of way. He was wearing a small pair of oval eyeglasses and peered down at her through them. "Excuse me," Andrea said, "is this the psych lab?" "Yeah," said the guy, "I just finished being tested." "Oh," said Andrea, "what sort of thing does it involve?" She figured that although the peo- ple running the experiment had good reason not to tell her, this guy probably would. "It's pretty boring," he said, "just a short film and a long questionnaire." "That's what I figured," said Andrea, somewhat disappointed. "Well, nice meeting you," said the guy, and walked off. Andrea pulled open the door and walked in. The first thing she noticed was that the place was very heavily air-conditioned. Soaked as she was in sweat, it was very cold for her, and her perfect nipples became erect almost instantly. It was only then that she noticed that the sweat had caused her blouse to go almost transparent, and her black bra and erect nipples were clearly visible underneath it. This did not go unnoticed by the receptionist, who raised an eyebrow at her. The woman looked as unpleasant as she sounded. She was not unattractive; on the contrary, she was very beautiful. But it was a very harsh sort of beauty. The eyebrow she had raised at An- drea was thin and completely black. Her lips were equally thin, and didn't smile. Her fea- tures were angular and her face pale, and her raven hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Andrea donned her jacket once more, as much because she was embarassed as because she was cold. She walked up to the desk and told the woman she was here for the ex- periment. "Yes," said the woman, "Dr. Ridgewell is expecting you. Second door on the left." She gestured to a corridor leading off the lobby. Andrea's subconcious mind thought it detected something menacing in her tone, but her concious mind rejected the notion on the basis that she was biased against this woman from the start. Andrea walked down the corridor and through the indicated door. She entered what ap- peared to be a fairly ordinary psychology lab, with a few writing desks, some audio-visual equipment and a coffee maker. There didn't appear to be anyone there, so she sat down at one of the desks to wait. About ten seconds after she had sat down, a door at the far end of the room opened and Albert Einstein walked in. Or rather, a man in an Albert Einstein mask walked in. "Hello," he said, in a voice that sounded distinctly robotic and inhuman, "don't mind the mask or the voice filter. It's essential to the experiment that the subject does not see the experimenter's real face or hear his real voice. You'll understand later." This struck Andrea as unusual, but no more unusual than many psych experiments she had participated in previously. Modern psychology had progressed to the point that most human behaviour could be at least somewhat explained in most ordinary circumstances. Research was moving in the direction of seeing how people behave in unusual circum- stances. "Coffee?" he offered. Andrea had never been to a psych experiment at which she had not been offered coffee. She had also never refused a cup. "Sure," she said, and took the offered mug. She sipped the coffee. It was delicious, made just the way she liked it. And it was warm, but not warm enough to burn one's mouth. So she took a bigger sip and thanked Dr. Ridgewell, or Einstein, as she thought of him now. She hadn't had a cup of coffee before leaving her house in the morning, and she was deeply grateful to get some now. "Now that you're here," said Einstein in his mechanical voice, "I can tell you a bit about the experiment. I'm sure you're familiar with Pavlov's dogs?" "Yeah," she said, "he always rang a bell before feeding them, and thereby taught them to salivate at the sound of a bell, demonstrating what we call classical conditioning. We learned that in first year." "Ah," replied Einstein, "a psych student. I wonder how that will affect the results. I guess we'll just have to see. Anyway, as you probably know, it's difficult to demonstrate classical conditioning on humans, since our minds are more complex. Our thoughts operate at a higher level, and so we can be conciously aware that even though we hear a bell, it does- n't necessarily mean we're going to be fed." "Right," agreed Andrea, wondering where this was headed. "So, to test it on humans, I theorize that we need to burrow down below the concious mind and use stimuli that work on our most base instincts, our inner animal nature." "Isn't food a fairly basic stimulus?" "Only if you're on the verge of starving to death, and that would be impractical for the pur- poses of our experiment. No, I'm thinking of two sensations that go right to the bedrock of your subconcious. Sexual pleasure… and pain." Andrea didn't like the sound of this, and said so. "Oh no, I'm afraid it's too late to back out of the experiment now," said Einstein, in a voice that sounded threatening even through the filter, "You've been commited to it for a while now." Andrea got up from her chair and backed towards the door. Or at least, she tried to. She managed to get herself to her feet, but her knees were wobbling underneath her and her head had begun to spin. "The coffee…" she whispered. "Yep. The oldest trick in the book," said Einstein, and shrugged at her as she pitched for- ward onto the ground. Andrea awoke in what she quickly figured out was a trunk. She was still woozy, and pounded feebly on the lid of the trunk. She became aware of the sounds of an engine, and highway asphalt whizzing by under the tires. The car hit a pothole and she banged her head painfully on the lid. She groaned, and resigned herself to the ride, trying to estimate how far they were driving, and keeping track of the turns they were taking. She was too out of it at first to be scared, but that quickly passed and she began to sob. She was still crying her eyes out when the car stopped. She heard footsteps and the trunk lid opened a crack. She had been planning to attempt some sort of escape when that happened, but before she could react, a cloth was tossed into the trunk and the lid was slammed shut again. Andrea was puzzled by this for a few moments before she smelled the unmistakeable odour of chloroform coming from the cloth, and began to beat frantic- ally on the lid. She began to scream and beg to be let out, but her screams quickly be- came slurred mumbles, and blackness enveloped her once again. When she came to again, she thought she was still in the trunk. It was pitch black, and she seemed to be lying on her back. As she came to her senses, though, she realized that she wasn't in the trunk anymore. First of all, there was no light coming from a crack be- tween the lid and the body of the car. This could be explained if it was now nighttime, but there was more. There was pressure on the insides of her legs, and gravity wasn't pulling her straight down on her back. By her best estimation, she was being supported on something which was leaning back at about a 45 degree angle. She could feel cold metal pressed against her pussy, and occasionally one of her nipples brushed up against something. Andrea was suddenly overcome with shock. How could there be something pressed against her pussy unless… unless she was naked. The air was cold, and she could feel it against her bare skin. Her nipples were erect and not pressed against any sort of material. She was definitely naked. More than that, some of the cold metal between her legs was in contact with places which had never been in direct contact with anything before. She gasped as she realized that her pubic hair had been completely removed. Andrea began to struggle, and realized that she couldn't move. Not at all. Her arms and legs were bound, spreadeagled. In fact, she realized that her legs were being held in a full sideways splits position, perfectly in line with each other. There was a strap around her waist and another just below her breasts. Her head was held back by a strap under her chin, staring up and away from her body. Padded plates were pressed tightly against her temples, keeping her from turning her head from side to side. She was overwhelmed by despair when she realized that each and every one of her fingers and toes was bound down. She couldn't even wiggle them at all. Through experimentation, she quickly discov- ered that there was not a single part of her body that she could move more than a milli- meter. She strained and struggled, but none of her bonds would budge. She was forced to admit to herself that there was absolutely nothing she could do, and began to sob once more. She became aware that she had little spots of itchiness all over her body and a vague ache in her right arm. And her muscles were twitching. At first, she thought that she was shivering, but the twitching was of a different nature than that. As she pondered this, a green light came on, maybe six inches away from her eyes. It was behind frosted glass, so it didn't appear as a single spot, but as a generalized green glow, bathing her in eerie light. She tried again to get a look at her surroundings, but she could- n't move her head. Eventually, by swiveling her eyes all the way to the left, she could just barely see her left shoulder with her peripheral vision. It was bare, as she had expected, but there were several tiny needles stuck into it, connected to wires. They corresponded exactly to the itchy spots. Andrea was a very intelligent girl, and quickly figured out what they were for. They were sending small electric currents into her muscles, causing them to twitch. She assumed that there were more, all over her body. Their purpose was to keep her muscles stimu- lated so they wouldn't atrophy. Andrea realized, with a fresh wave of despair, that this meant that she was going to be kept in this… thing indefinitely. And that would mean that the ache in her right arm was an IV needle, feeding her some solution which would keep her alive through her ordeal, whatever that might be. Approximately five minutes after the green light came on, there was a whirring, and An- drea felt something metalic press up against her clit. She whimpered in fear, and a second later the thing sprung into action, vibrating rapidly. It very quickly began to turn her on, despite her efforts to ignore it. Through a haze of building pleasure, the robotic words on Dr. Ridgewell came back to her… "No, I'm thinking of two sensations that go right to the bedrock of your subconcious. Sex- ual pleasure… and pain." Andrea screamed with the realization of what was going to be done to her, and strained with renewed vigour against the bonds which held her, but there was nothing she could do. Soon she was exhausted, hanging limp in her restraints, the stimulation of her clit causing her to whimper with a strange combination of pleasure and terror.
Part III: The Experiment Andrea wasn't sure how long the machine continued to stimulate her clit. At first, she struggled a little more, trying to get away from the device pressed up between her legs. She knew it was futile from the start, and soon resigned herself. It wasn't so bad, she rea- soned. She certainly wasn't in the mood for sex, but it could be far worse. In any case, she figured she could just think about something else and ignore it. She soon discovered how wrong she was. For starters, all she could see was green light. It didn't supply much in the way of topics for thought. When she was bored, or trying to ignore something, Andrea usually thought about either psychology or sex, depending on her mood. The latter was right out, for obvious reasons, and she definitely didn't want to think about the former, since that was what had gotten her into this position in the first place. In any case, finding something else to think about wouldn't have done much good anyway, since the small tingles of pleasure emanating from between her legs was quickly giving way to larger tingles, creeping up her body. She couldn't help but notice that she was get- ting very wet indeed, and the thought that her body was betraying her like this infuriated her even more. Andrea closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, trying to think unsexy thoughts. It was to no avail. Sharp spikes of pleasure were shooting up from her crotch, into her central nervous system. Her body twitched madly, partially from the electrodes in her muscles, but mostly from throes of pleasure. She gasped, and attempted to writhe, but was prevented from doing so by the bonds which held her. She tried to clench her fists and toes, but even her digits were held fixed in place, unable to move even by a hair's breadth. Soon, she was only aware of the green light, which permeated her vision, even through her closed lids, and the pleasure which seemed to radiate from her crotch like a million watt lightbulb. All the fight was gone from her, and she was hanging limp in her bonds again, surrendered to the machine's will. She felt herself coming close to an orgasm, and her muscles went taught, trying to thrash, or clench her thighs together in ecstasy, or SOMETHING. But her restraints wouldn't have any of that; they held her rigidly in place, clit pressed decisively against the source of her pleasure. She screamed as she came, shuddering in her fetters. For some reason she couldn't explain rationally, Andrea had subconciously been expect- ing the machine to stop vibrating and withdraw from her clit as soon as she came. It didn't. It just kept going, and going. Before she knew it, Andrea had another orgasm, even more intense than the last. Fairly soon, Andrea lost count of her orgasms as well as the duration of the stimulation. She kept on cumming, though; at first, her climaxes came in rapid succession, each more intense than the last. She tired out quickly though, and began to get sore. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her lungs were on fire. Her orgasms began to get fewer, and further between. They hurt a bit, because she was getting so tender, and rather than screaming, the best she could manage was a short gasp or feeble whimper. Eventually, the green light went out. The device between her legs stopped vibrating at the exact same instant. There was a whirring sound, and it withdrew from her clit. Plunged into darkness once more, Andrea struggled to regain her breath. Her muscles were very sore from struggling and being held in this stretched out position so long. The air was cool, and her flesh drenched in sweat, and soon she was shivering, her teeth chattering weakly. She was more miserable than she'd ever been before in her life. She was trapped, unable to move and with no sign of freedom any time in the near future. She was sore, she was exhausted, and she was freezing. She wanted very badly to cry, but she was too ex- hausted; the tears wouldn't come. Eventually, she had regained her breath, and her sweat had all but completely evapo- rated. She had ceased to shiver, although the air was still a little bit cold for her liking. She began to discover that being imprisoned in the device was much like being in a sensory deprivation tank. Unable to move, she lacked any sort of tactile stimulation. All she could smell was her own sweat and pussy juice. The darkness was complete; she couldn't see anything. The machine was silent when it wasn't operating. The only stimulus she had at all was the uncomfortable sensation of all the muscles in her body twitching slightly, forced to do so by the electrodes which were stuck in all over her body. As people often do in sensory deprivation tanks, Andrea began to hallucinate. Her dog, which she kept back at her parents' place appeared to her and spoke to her, but its words didn't make any sense. Her mind began to fill in a background: the living room at her par- ents' house, a fire blazing in the fireplace. She stroked her dog, and it licked her face. An- drea welcomed the hallucination eagerly; it took her away from the horrible place she was and into a relaxing, ordinary world. The scene changed quite suddenly. She and her dog were out in a field of tall green grass, blowing in the wind. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on her face, its green light visible through her eyelids. The color of the light struck her as odd, and she opened her eyes, realizing with shock that the whole sky had turned green, and her dog was nowhere to be seen. It took her a moment to realize that she was no longer hallucinating. The green light was on again. She wondered if there was a correlation between the light and the machine go- ing into action. There must be, she reasoned, since the machine had stopped just as the light had gone off. But it wasn't doing anything yet. She was pretty sure it was going to do something, but she didn't know what. It might be the same as before, or it might not. She tried to convince herself that it MIGHT not do anything at all, but she knew that was an idle hope. Before the light had been on even a minute, the anticipation was killing her. She squirmed un- comfortably, knowing that there was absolutely nowhere she could go, nothing she could do. The muscles of her inner thighs were very sore by this point. The discomfort reminded her of the fact that they were spread as far as they would go, and she couldn't help but think about just how exposed and accessible her pussy was, especially with the hair re- moved. Despite her exhaustion, she did manage a choked sob or two. It couldn't have been more than five minutes before the machine whirred to life again, but by that time, Andrea was feeling like she was going to completely lose her mind. It almost came as a relief when she felt the same device, or one much like it press against her clit. The tiny fraction of a second between the device coming into contact with her nether re- gions and when it started to vibrate was an instant frozen in time. Conciously, Andrea dreaded what was to come, but the primitive, animalistic regions of her subconcious were screaming out their eager anticipation. These two sides of Andrea slugged it out on the battlefield of her mind in the instant before the stimulation of her clit wiped out her capacity for rational thought and gave her body over to the mercies of her animal nature. The effects the machine had on Andrea this time around were far less dramatic. She had many orgasms, but she was so exhausted that even the first few weren't very powerful. By the time the machine stopped, an indeterminate amount of time later, she was verging on unconciousness, and had entirely stopped climaxing. As soon as the machine stopped, Andrea fell fast asleep, supported in her restraints. It was a deep, dreamless sleep, and the next thing she was aware of was a beeping sound, awakening her from her slumber. It had seemed to her that she had just closed her eyes for a moment before being awoken, but she felt well-rested enough that she assumed that the machine had let her sleep at least six to eight hours before giving her this wake-up call. At least, that's what she hoped the beeping was. She apprehensively thought that the beeping might be the precursor to the machine coming to life again. Her thigh muscles were even more sore and cramped than they had been when she'd fallen asleep, but the rest of her body was relaxed, and her clit was no longer sore, having recovered from all the stimulation. The beeping had stopped, and she waited in silence and darkness, wondering with more than a little fear what was to happen to her next. Time passed, and nothing seemed to be happening. A pressing need was overcoming her fear, the need to pee. Worried that she might hit an exposed wire and electrocute herself, Andrea tried to hold it in. She quickly realized that she probably wasn't going anywhere for quite a while and she'd have to go at some point. Chewing on her lip and trying not to think about it, Andrea closed her eyes and began to piss. She was relieved to find that she wasn't being electrocuted, and the pee wasn't pooling around her crotch or feet. When she was done, she heard a watery whoosh sound, and realized that whoever had built this infernal device had anticipated this need and designed something to deal with her wastes. Again, she wondered just how long she was going to be kept in the machine. Sleep had cleared her mind, and Andrea was able to think about her situation more lu- cidly. Was this really a psychology experiment, or just some perverted scheme? Andrea was quite sure that Dr. Ridgewell wasn't the real name of the guy in the Einstein mask, but that didn't mean he didn't actually have a PhD in psychology. It certainly wasn't a legal experiment, and would never be published in any psychological journals, but perhaps the man was insane, obsessed with his studies, and was performing the experiment out of curiousity. But what sort of experiment was it? Andrea recalled him saying something about Pavlov's dogs and classical conditioning. In classical conditioning, a stimulus was given which had nothing to do with the desired response. This was known as the conditioned stimulus. Im- mediately after the conditioned stimulus, another stimulus was given to provoke the de- sired response. It was called the unconditioned stimulus. When the desired response was given in response to the unconditioned stimulus, it was known as the unconditioned re- sponse. After repeating the process many times, the subject (the dogs, in Pavlov's case) would form an association between the two stimuli and would thereafter exhibit the re- sponse even if only the unconditioned stimulus was given. The response was then known as the conditioned response. This sort of fit in with what had happened to her so far. The green light could be a condi- tioned stimulus, and the stimulation of her sex organs was definitely an unconditioned stimulus. So what was the reaction Dr. Ridgewell was trying to provoke? Getting her turned on at the sight of a green light? It didn't seem to be working, if that was the case. As far as Andrea could remember, she'd been more terrified at the sight of it than anything else. She had been pondering the subject for a little under an hour when her thoughts were in- terrupted by a red light shining in her eyes. Andrea's eyes had adapted to the darkness, and the light hurt them. She squeezed them shut, but, like the green one, the red light was bright enough to be seen through her eyelids. Andrea gasped when she remembered, again, Dr. Ridgewell's words: "...two sensations that go right to the bedrock of your subconcious. Sexual pleasure... and pain." Pain. Was that what the red light was going to represent? Panic washed over Andrea like a bucket of ice-cold water dumped over her head. Before she knew what she was doing, she was struggling madly against the machine that held her, squeezing her eyes tighter against the red light. Long ago, Andrea's concious mind had accepted, or at least under- stood, that struggling could do no good. Andrea wasn't thinking rationally, however. Her muscles strained against the restraints, harder than she would have thought possible. The bonds didn't shift, even slightly. Tears came easily to her now, streaming down her face and dripping onto her breasts and rolling down between them, sliding along her shaved mound and finally dripping off the bottom edge of her labia into the darkness. A few minutes later, her worst fears were realized. If anything, it was worse than she ex- pected. The pain hit the instinctive parts of her nervous system first, and she was straining against her manacles and screaming before she was conciously aware of what had hap- pened. The machine had clamped down on her nipples with incredible force. Her nipples had been erect in the cold air, causing the pain to be even more intense than it would have been ordinarily. She could see the clamps, but when the initial shock had cleared enough for her to think, she imagined that they must have some sort of slightly slightly covering or they would have broken the skin. It didn't comfort her much; the pain was still unlike any- thing she'd ever felt. Just as she was starting to adapt to the pain, to be able to partially ignore it, the clamps began to twist. They were rotating in opposite directions, her right nipple being twisted clockwise, her left one counter-clockwise. When they reached a position 90 degrees from where they had started, they stopped. Or so Andrea thought. She quickly realized that they were still turning, only slower now. Andrea whimpered in pain; the twisting of her nip- ples was beginning to really hurt. By the time they'd reached 180 degrees, the agony had outmatched the pain caused by the pinching of the clamps, but still they turned. They slowed down further. It must have taken them five minutes to reach 270 degrees, by which point Andrea was sure that her nipples were going to be twisted right off. Her eyes were watering and her fingers strained against the straps holding them, trying against her willing them to, to clench themselves into fists. She was no longer aware of anything except the pain in her nipples; even the red light that consumed her vision seemed far away, as if in a dream, and still the clamps turned. They stopped just short of 360 degrees, by which point Andrea was gritting her teeth and emiting short, high-pitched gasps. The clamps began to turn back to their original positions, moving with excruciating slow- ness. When they reached their normal orientation and her nipples were no longer twisted, Andrea assumed they were going to release her. She quickly learned otherwise. She heard a whirring from between her legs and felt cold metal on the insides of her outer labia. It clamped down on them, but lightly, causing only mild discomfort. The machine then pulled them apart, exposing the more delicate parts inside. Before Andrea could start worrying about this, agony shot through her and she was screaming again. She thought having her nipples clamped had been bad. Nothing could have prepared her for the pain of having the same done to her clit. Andrea screamed over and over, resuming her futile struggles. She was certain that the machine was going to twist her clit, and equally certain that there was no way she could endure the pain that would cause without blacking out. She was wrong on both counts. Instead of twisting, the clamp began to pull. Unlike the nipple clamps, it pulled fairly quickly, moving out to its maximum extension of a little over a centimeter in the span of maybe 15 seconds. The agony was intense, but unfortunately for Andrea, she didn't black out. Almost as soon as it stretched her clit out as far as it would go, the machine moved back in to its original position. And then it pulled again. As it began to return once more to its original position, the clamps on her nipples began to twist them again, faster this time. The machine continued to work on her nipples and clit alternately; as tension was being re- leased from her clit, her nipples were being twisted to their extreme; as the clamps crush- ing her nipples rotated back, their counterpart would pull cruelly on her clit. After what seemed to Andrea to be hours, they stopped. Again, Andrea began to hope that her ordeal was over for the time being. Instead, she gasped again as high-voltage AC current was put through her nipples, via the clamps that held them. A moment later, her clit suffered a similar fate. The electricity seemed to be low amperage, despite its high voltage; it inflicted an incredible amount of pain when applied, but didn't seem to be doing any actual damage, aside from the unpleasant buzzing sensation that AC shocks leave. After shocking her repeatedly for a while, the machine seemed to be going into its grand finale. It started twisting and pulling on her again, repeatedly sending shocks through the three clamps while it did so. By then, Andrea was completely fatigued, too weak to strug- gle. She was completely consumed by pain; it no longer even seemed to be located to her breasts and crotch; her whole body seemed to be glowing hot white with agony. And then it stopped. There was no more twisting or pulling, no more electricity. The red light remained on, however. For about a minute, nothing happened. Andrea gritted her teeth, trying to steel herself for whatever was to come next. And then all three clamps re- leased simultaneously. Andrea felt relief for a fraction of a second before screaming in pain as the blood rushed back into her nipples and clit. A few seconds later, the pain faded to a dull ache, and the device holding her labia open released her and it too with- drew. The red light went out. The red light went on several more times that day, each time accompanied by sobs, fol- lowed by screams and eventually just subdued whimpers. By the end of the day, Andrea had completely lost her will to fight. She was resigned, and cried herself to sleep. Once again, she was awoken by the beeping. She was disoriented when she woke up, unsure of where she was. When she remembered, she began to cry again. The first light to go on that day was green, and Andrea felt her spirits lift slightly. Sure enough, the vi- brator was pressed to her clit, and remained there for what Andrea guessed was several hours, giving her countless orgasms and leaving her exhausted and sore. Next, the red light went on. What the machine did to her was no different than the other times, but it was far worse this time because her clit was hyper-sensitive from her green light experience. She almost did black out this time, but was suddenly, inexplicably brought back to her senses, to her world of agony. Later, between pleasure and pain sessions, she'd figure out that she'd been given a stimulant through the IV to keep her concious. Fuck, the designer of this thing had thought of everything. The next few days went in the same vein; green light and moans, red light and screams. The machine usually alternated them, but occasionally it would give her the same one two or three times in a row. Andrea decided that it was trying to keep her guessing. The peri- ods of darkness between the red and green lights were almost worse than the sessions themselves; the psychological torture of trying to guess what would happen to her next was unbearable. She felt like she was losing her mind. Her next big surprise came about a week later. First thing one morning, shortly after the beeping, a yellow light went on. Yellow? Andrea had no idea what this could mean. Dr. Ridgewell had mentioned sexual pleasure and pain, but nothing else. So what was with this third light? Andrea squirmed in frustration, knowing that there was no way to know except to wait for five minutes until the machine got around to doing its business. The five minutes seemed more like five hours to Andrea. She spent the time running sce- narios through her mind, trying to guess what was about to be done to her. She hoped desperately that it wasn't going to be another form of torture… she didn't think she could deal with it. It was, but not in the way Andrea was thinking. Once again, a device lightly clamped her outer labia and drew them apart, as if pulling aside curtains to unveil a masterpiece at an art gallery. Andrea screamed, fearing that her clit was going to be tortured again. Instead, Andrea felt something press up against the opening of her vagina. It felt like latex. Ever so slowly, it began to slide into her. Whatever it was, it was well lubricated; Andrea was so scared that she was as dry as a bone in there, but the thing slid in easily. It was big, just barely small enough not to cause her pain, and it had some sort of hard ridge on the top. It halted in its penetration when that ridge was aligned with her g-spot. For many long minutes, nothing happened. Andrea squeezed it experimentally. It gave a little bit, as soft rubber or latex would. The ridge on top was pressing quite hard against her g-spot and felt like hard plastic. Andrea began to wonder if the machine was broken when it suddenly sprung into life. The dildo began to vibrate faintly and slide slowly in and out. The ridge scraped against her g-spot, causing tingles of pleasure to shoot through her. Eventually, Andrea began to get turned on. She wondered what the point of this was; the green light already had the sexual pleasure side of things covered. It seemed a little re- dundant. Not that she was complaining; this she could deal with, and hopefully it meant that now the red light would only come on a third of the time, instead of half. The sort of pleasure the vibrating dildo was giving her was more subtle than the green light device, even with the plastic ridge scraping against her g-spot. After ten or fifteen minutes, she was getting very horny and producing her own juices in ample quantities; the vibrations were sending constant tingles of pleasure through her body, punctuated with larger waves of ecstasy caused by the plastic ridge on each stroke. Nonetheless, she wasn't getting very close to a climax. If only she was having her clit stimulated, she thought to herself, she'd have had at least a couple of orgasms by now. As if in response to her thoughts, the next stroke was a deeper one and brought the tip of the dildo against her cervix and the ridge into contact with her a-spot. It had some sort of vibrating protrusion at the base, which came into contact with her clit at the moment of deepest penetration, sending a sharp spike of rapture through her whole lower body each time. Now Andrea was definitely getting enough stimulation. Within a few minutes, she was rid- ing on waves of pleasure which crested higher and higher with each passing second. She felt an orgasm coming on, she squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lip, tensed her body and… everything stopped. The dildo stopped vibrating and sliding in and out. It was quickly with- drawn, leaving her hanging. This frustrated Andrea considerably. It was the first sign of bad design she'd seen. Appar- ently, the yellow light device was intended to give her a single orgasm, rather than sev- eral, but she'd obviously gotten to her climax later than the designer had intended. "Obvi- ously a man's design," Andrea thought to herself, snidely. It was only then that it occurred to her that the yellow light was still on. As she was pondering this, she felt the dildo enter her again. By this time, she'd cooled down, and was back to square one. Apparently the dildo was, too, since it was doing what it had when it first started, vibrating slightly and caressing her g-spot with its ridge. Even- tually, it once again began to penetrate deeper, grinding the ridge against he a-spot and pressing its vibrating nub against hers with each thrust. When it stopped just short of her climax for the second time, Andrea realized that it was no coincidence. There must be some sort of sensors attached to her somewhere, moni- toring heart rate and blood pressure, predicting when she was about to have an orgasm, so it could snatch it from her grasp at the last minute. The next few times around, Andrea tried to conceal the fact that she was coming close. She made concious efforts to keep her breathing slow, but it was no use. She couldn't fool the machine. Time after time, she came tantalizingly close to what she knew would be an absolutely amazing orgasm, only to have it taken away from her, just inches from the fin- ish line. The yellow light stayed on far longer than the green or red ones ever had. Andrea esti- mated that it was on for well over half the day. By the end, she was screaming herself hoarse with sexual frustration, begging the machine out loud to let her cum, as if it could hear her. The device was completely without mercy. She was wetter than she'd ever been in her life, the dildo sliding in and out frictionlessly, her juices dripping out with every stroke. And then the yellow light went off. The dildo withdrew, and didn't come back. Being left in the most intense state of sexual arousal of her life, with no stimulation whatsoever was almost worse than the constant teasing she had just been subjected to. When the green light came on half an hour later, Andrea actually sobbed with joy. What followed thereafter pushed all other contenders off of her list of top 10 most intense or- gasms of her life.
Part IV: The Results Andrea soon lost count of the days. Her world consisted entirely of black, green, yellow and red: solitude, pleasure, frustration and pain. Eventually, the muscles in her thighs adapted to being stretched into the full splits 24 hours a day. The soreness subsided, and the lack of that particular sensation made the periods of darkness seem even more like a sensory deprivation tank. When she wasn't being stimulated or tortured, Andrea found herself more and more fre- quently becoming completely lost in hallucinations, detached from the world. Her reveries were periodically disrupted by the appearance of a light and a session with the corre- sponding devices, but as soon as the machine left her alone again, she would slip once more into her fantasy world. Occasionally, she would come back to her senses temporarily. At one point, she noticed that her crotch was feeling a bit prickly whenever the machine touched it. She deduced that her pubic hair was growing back. The next morning (or was it the one after? She wasn't sure...), Andrea awoke to find the prickliness gone; she was as smooth as the first day she had found herself in the machine. She guessed that someone, possibly Dr. Ridgewell, had removed her from the machine while she slept to shave her again. Her legs felt fairly smooth against the padded surface to which they were secured, so they must have shaved them as well. The machine lacked the usual smell of sweat and female arousal that it usually had, so she and it had probably been washed. She still had enough of her reason intact to realize that this could present an avenue of escape. She decided that the next time she began to feel prickly, she'd try to stay awake while pretending to be asleep. When the time came, she closed her eyes and faked slum- ber, as she had planned. Almost immediately, she felt herself drifting off to sleep. She bit her lip quite hard, hoping the pain would keep her awake. The beeping awoke Andrea from her sleep. She'd fallen asleep despite herself. She struggled in the bonds, attempting to wiggle her hips. They moved less than a millimeter, but it was enough for her to realize that the stubble had been removed. There was no way she could have fallen asleep that quickly, especially if she was trying not to. The machine must be giving her some sort of sedative through the IV, whenever it decided that it was "bed time." Her faint hope dashed to pieces, Andrea felt a sense of despair she hadn't felt since the first few days. A single tear trickled down her cheek. When the red light went on, her gentle weeping turned to outright sobbing. Five minutes later, she was screaming. As bad as the torture sessions were, Andrea found herself dreading the frustrations brought on by the yellow light even more. Pain has a numbing effect. After the first few minutes of twisted nipples and stretched clit, Andrea usually began to feel like she was someone else. She'd feel the pain as if from a great distance, hear her own screams as if they were muffled behind a thick wall. She'd forget where she was, sometimes even start to hallucinate again. But the yellow light device, bringing her right up to the verge of climax before dropping her down again and forcing her up that maddening ascent once more... THAT she couldn't bear. It kept her in the present, acutely aware of the manacles which prevented her from moving, of the machine moving and vibrating inside her. Never did she feel more helpless than with the yellow light shining in her eyes. At first, the yellow light was always proceeded by the green light. After the first few weeks, however, this changed. Sometimes it would be followed by the red light, sometimes by sleep. Once, she got a yellow light first thing in the morning, and it went on all day until she was put to sleep by the machine. The next morning, she was left in darkness for nearly an hour, still horny from the previous day's maddening experience. When the light went on, it was neither green nor red, but yellow again, and at that moment, something snapped in Andrea's mind. After that, Andrea had no idea who or where she was. She had no recollection of her pre- vious life, no concept of escape, no idea that there was even an outside world to escape to. Her mind had reverted to a completely animalistic state, and she only knew three things: green meant pleasure, red meant pain, yellow meant frustration. Time passed. It might have been weeks, or months... maybe even over a year. By the end of it, Andrea was screaming when the red light went on, seemingly in agony before the torture devices even went to work. When the yellow light went on, she squirmed in her restraints and became wet almost immediately. Most startlingly, she began to have or- gasms whenever the green light went on, screaming in lust before the vibrating device had whirred into action. At then, one morning, Andrea awoke to a white light. White? Her concious mind, beaten into submission so long ago, slowly began to grind into action once more. What did white mean? After several minutes, she decided that she'd definitely never seen white light be- fore. It was several minutes before her concious mind was working well enough for her to real- ize that she could no longer feel the manacles holding every part of her body down. She wiggled her fingers experimentally. They moved just fine. Unaccustomed to having any sort of freedom, she wasn't sure what to do. Soon, her eyes learned how to focus again. She realized that she was lying on her back on a table, staring up at a fluorescent light. Looking around, she found that she was in some sort of small warehouse. She was still naked and shaved, but the electrodes that had been stimulating her muscles had been removed, as had the IV. There was still a small red mark on her right arm where it had been. On a smaller table next to the one she was lying on, she could see her clothes. She didn't recognize them, but would eventually realize that they were the same ones she had worn on the day of her capture. Beside the table was a small refrigerator. She attempted to stand up and get her clothes, but her body was so cramped from being held in one position that she ended up slipping off the table and collapsing on the ground in a heap. She dragged herself over to the other table and pulled the clothes off, but real- ized that attempting to get dressed was futile. Instead, she pulled open the fridge, and found food and water inside. She remained in the warehouse for several days, during which time she learned how to walk again, and began to regain her memories. She knew her name, and recognized the clothes. By the time the food began to run out, she'd remembered everything; her life, her friends and family and the events leading up to her abduction. Finally, she decided she was ready to return to the world. The warehouse didn't have any exits on its outer walls, but there was a smaller structure in one corner. It had a door into it from the warehouse, and Andrea assumed that the door out lay on the other side. It looked like it had been added after the warehouse had been constructed; the materials used were slightly different. Andrea walked over and pulled open the door. Then she screamed and staggered back, thrashing her arms madly and squeezing her eyes shut. The little room was lit by red lights on the ceiling. A final surprise, left by Dr. Ridgewell. Andrea was amazed. It was as if the light had caused her physical agony. She knew she wouldn't be able to go through that room if she could see the light. She removed her jacket and used it to cover her eyes. She had seen enough of the room to know that it was empty, except for a door at the far side. She dashed through the room as quickly as pos- sible, imagining the horrible red light beating down on her, and felt around for the door. Finding it, she pulled it open and staggered outside. The air was warm and the sun was beating down. It was summertime. Andrea paused to contemplate this. It meant that she had either been in there only a month or two, or it meant that she had been a prisoner for close to a year. She was forced to admit to herself that she had absolutely no idea. Reaching up, she tentatively pulled the jacket away from her face. The sky overhead was deep blue, and she was standing in a field of green grass. Green, green grass. Andrea went weak in the knees, and fell down, first to her knees, and then face down in the grass. It didn't occur to her what had just happened until she opened her eyes again, mere inches from the grass. The green colour permeated her vi- sion and seemed from there into her body, and she convulsed in a powerful orgasm. She couldn't believe the extent to which the machine had affected her. Three years of psychology classes, and she hadn't known the extent of the effect which classical condi- tioning could have. She doubted that anyone out there realized it, except perhaps Dr. Ridgewell. Her hand slipped inside her g-string, and she began to stroke herself and moan in ec- stasy, aware only of the colour green. It took a while, and many orgasms, but eventually her body was sufficiently satisfied that she could at least partially ignore the grass. Checking her surroundings, she noticed that there was a road of some sort at the far end of the field. She headed over for it, hoping to find someone who could tell her where she was, or pos- sibly even give her a lift. Halfway across the field of green grass, she had to stop and masturbate again, but eventually she reached the road. It turned out to be a two lane highway, so she sat down, keeping her eyes on the sky so as not to suffer any more ef- fects of her conditioning. Eventually, she heard a car approaching and she held out her thumb. But when she looked to see if it was going to stop, she realized that it was a red car. She let out a little squeal and dove into the ditch by the side of the road. She heard the car slow down, the driver undoubtedly wondering what this crazy woman was doing, but thankfully, it didn't stop. Hauling herself out of the ditch, she sat back down to wait. The next car to come along was black. That was ok. She held out her thumb and the car stopped. She asked the driver how far from Montreal she was, and he told her it was only about half an hour away. He said he was heading that way anyway and offered her a lift. Andrea gratefully ac- cepted. Andrea was brave enough to tell people what had happened. It turned out that she had in fact been kept in the diabolic machine for exactly one year. The police launched an inves- tigation, but failed to come up with anything. The only suspect description she could give them was for the secretary, but they never found anyone fitting it. Andrea resumed her life as best she could, but found that she had become completely disgusted with the subject of psychology, formerly her only major interest in life. She found it hard to function in the real world, since anything red terrified her, anything green made her climax, and yellow made her so sexually frustrated it was impossible to concentrate on anything. Years passed, and slowly the conditioning faded. It never went away entirely, though. An- drea found she had an aversion to red, got a bit uncomfortable and antsy around yellow, and liked the colour green quite a bit. It manifested itself mostly in dealings with the oppo- site sex. When she had recovered from her trauma enough to be interested in pursuing a relationship, she found that she avoided guys who were wearing anything red, and always found herself attracted to guys in green, even if they weren't her type. She felt sorry for the anyone wearing yellow, because she knew she was sending them mixed signals; she found herself getting turned on around them, but could never be comfortable. On the oc- casions when she did hook up with someone, she found that her boyfriends underwent a little bit of conditioning of their own. Although she never said anything to them, their ward- robes invariably began to empty of anything red or yellow, and when buying new clothes they often seemed to opt for various shades of green. By the time she was 30, Andrea had left the experience behind her, despite the traces of conditioning that still lingered. She rarely thought about it, and never for very long. She led a fairly normal life, except for the slight colour bias. One day, however, an unpleasant re- minder arrived, in the form of a small stack of papers on her doorstep. Attached to the pa- pers was a note: "My study is complete, and I thank you. You were an excellent subject. I attempted the same experiment on several girls in other countries, and they all displayed nearly identical responses, although not to the same degree that you did. Needless to say, no psychologi- cal journal will print this paper, so I will have to opt for anonymous publication on the Internet. It's actually sort of convenient to publish in that medium, since it facilitates the attachment digital photographs and videos of you and the other subjects to the paper. Here is a printout of the textual part of the paper. If you want to see the photos and videos, the URL is given in an appendix of the paper. Sincerely, Dr. Ridgewell" Something clicked in Andrea's mind. She suddenly realized why he had used the mask and the voice filter. She had always assumed it was so that she would be unable to iden- tify him, but she now realized that that notion made little sense; she could always identify the receptionist, who could probably be convinced to rat him out, and in any case, he could have always left the country during her imprisonment, as the woman had no doubt done. No, the reason he didn't want her to be able to recognize him was because he wanted to be able to study her for years after her release, to see the long term effects. Fuck, for all she knew, he could have been one of the boyfriends she'd had since the ex- periment. She could never figure out the purpose of that note, however. Was he really so deranged that he believed that she'd appreciate being given a copy of the study? The note seemed friendly enough. Or did he send it to her out of some sort of sarcastic sadism, to taunt her and bring back the painful memories? One thing was for sure, she didn't want to look at the web page. It was torture enough for her to know that videos and pictures of her while she was consumed by her animalistic nature were being made available for the public. Most women worry that nude pictures of them might end up on the Internet. This was far, far worse. Andrea definitely did not want to see it for herself. THE END
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