Author's Note: Hey readers - A lot of you have enjoyed the various stories that I've posted on this site, so I wanted to let you know that I just published my first book. The style is similar to my other stories, but the plot is more filled out and the writing is more polished. It is also filled, of course, with plenty of hot bondage scenes. I think you'll like it!

If you're interested, you can find it on the Erotic Book Network in paperback or as an eBook. It's called Nextwave, and is published under the penname Jay Beach. You can follow this link to both.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy my newest short story, Psychological Research.


Heather's world was in perfect order. She was a straight-A psychology student, ready to graduate with top honors in the spring and start directly on a PhD program. Her personal life was as straight as her grades. While she dated periodically, she never let relationships get in the way of her studies or her equally strict sleeping and workout schedule. She believed that the body and mind were machines that needed to be treated well in order to function optimally. A daily five-mile run combined with half an hour of yoga kept her legs, arms and core in a finely-toned condition, allowing her brain to run at peak performance.

Boys certainly loved that body, topped-off by full B-cup breasts and a face as cute as a button, but they often lost interest quickly. Between her workouts, her studies, and the ten hours of sleep she made sure to get every night, Heather had little time for dating and wasn't all that excited by sex anyway. A good student had more important priorities.

As in any psychology department, the professors and grad students that Heather studied under were constantly looking for test subjects for their various research projects. The diligent student usually didn't mind helping out. She understood that larger sample sizes led to more reliable results, and she figured that partaking in the studies was a good way to gain first-hand experience in the research that was being conducted. She was not, however, terribly excited about the latest study that she was being asked to join.

The email that arrived in Heather's inbox explained that one of the professors was seeking to determine what percentage of women are sexually aroused by bondage. Other studies had given a range of answers to this question, and the professor was not satisfied that any of those studies had been academically rigorous. The main problem was that researchers had to give test subjects a basic explanation of what would occur during their studies. The test subjects who consented to the studies were therefore self-selecting, which skewed the results.

The email explained that all female seniors in the psych department were being asked to participate, regardless of any preconceptions they might have of bondage. The straight-laced student certainly had plenty of the preconceptions. She considered getting tied-up for sexual pleasure to be silly at best, and more accurately it was derogatory and dangerous. She certainly never even considered trying it in her own limited sex life. However, the professor made a valid point that the study would be skewed if only kinky participants opted-in. He had sent the invitation to the psych majors in hopes they would understand the importance of one-hundred-percent participation. This argument won over the statistics-minded girl, who figured that her involvement would at least help show that a lower percentage of women actually enjoyed this kind of thing.

A vaginal photoplethysmograph showed up in Heather's mail the very next day. She was instructed to insert the small probe twenty-four hours before her scheduled test. The device would measure her vaginal blood volume and vaginal pulse amplitude, two metrics that were generally accepted as indicators of sexual arousal. Recording the data for a full day in advance would set a baseline and would also get the subjects accustomed to the feel of the probe so that its very presence did not skew the results. The prudish girl was not thrilled about having to go around all day with the device sliding around in her most private of parts, but she did have to admit that by the time she showed up for the test she barely noticed that it was still there.

When Heather arrived at the lab, she was immediately impressed by the rigor with which the professor had tried to remove all external variables. She had been told to enter the building through a side door, which led to a small, unadorned room. A simple table held a sheet of printed instructions. It was explained that none of the test subjects would see any people during the study, so that their varying attraction to any given person would not throw off the results. All instructions would be written or read by a computer.

The test subjects were also to wear a standardized set of clothes. This made perfect sense to the conservatively dressed girl who knew that many of her fellow students dressed like sluts all the time and would probably get turned on just by seeing their own reflections. She quickly stripped down and pulled on the simple clothes that were provided: a pair of shorts with built-in undies and a tank top with a built-in bra. The brevity of the shorts was a bit surprising - nearly the entire length of her legs was left bare - but she figured it was probably just utilitarian for the upcoming test.

Once dressed, Heather put the instruction sheet back on the desk and left her clothes and shoes behind as she followed the last direction to go through a door into the next room. This room was also white-walled and small, and contained some kind of metal contraption. The sight of the machine was a little intimidating, and the somewhat nervous girl couldn't help but jump a little when a computerized voice began speaking the moment the door closed behind her.

"Welcome," the recording started, seeming to come from all sides of the room at once. "Thank you for participating in this important research test. Please follow the instructions you are given quickly and with as little extra movement as possible. Each subject will complete a standard set of actions. The test will end there for those that are found un-responsive to bondage. Those that are found to be responsive will continue with additional trials to determine the extent of their response."

Heather's nerves were calmed by the dry delivery of the computerized voice and the reassurance she got from what was clearly a well-designed study. This professor was following standard procedures and had done an excellent job of excluding external variables from corrupting the data he was gathering.

"When instructed to proceed," the computerized voice continued, "face the door and step through the two cuffs marked with the letter A. The cuffs will automatically close around your ankles. They will tighten to a specified pressure that will not impede blood flow, but will ensure that you cannot remove your feet until the straps are loosened. Proceed now."

This all seemed perfectly reasonable to the bare-footed girl, who walked up to the machine with confidence that her test would be over quickly. The ankle cuffs were spread about three-feet apart and appeared to be firmly attached to the metal contraption. She felt silly, but proceeded quickly as she had been instructed, spreading her legs and stepping through the waiting cuffs.

The feel of the wide, leather straps tightening around her ankles took Heather by surprise. She wasn't sure why, since the machine had done exactly what the computerized voice had said it would do. The straps were not uncomfortably tight, but there was just something about the knowledge that she could not remove them by herself that triggered a sensation that she couldn't quite place. The logical girl brushed this sensation aside, figuring that it must just be nervousness. If the machine malfunctioned, she should have some method of removing the cuffs. She would note this to the professor after the test.

"Take three deep breaths," the voice instructed. "Next, you will place your wrists through the cuffs marked with the letter B. These will automatically tighten to the same degree as the ankle cuffs, firmly but not overly tight. Proceed now."

Heather knew she was more nervous than she should be. She did think there should be a safety button, but knew that she was probably being remotely monitored by the camera she could see above the door, so she really shouldn't worry. Hurriedly reaching up for the wrist cuffs, she was actually reassured to find that she had to stand straight and stretch her arms in order to get her hands all the way through the cuffs. This meant that the research team had been diligent enough to adjust the contraption to her specific height. They weren't taking any shortcuts.

As the wide leather straps tightened firmly around her wrists, Heather's attempt at confidence evaporated. The firmness of the leather pressing against her skin left no doubt that her arms were stuck right where they were until she was released. Her face flushed and she felt her heart beating faster. Surely, she figured, this was a minor panic brought on by the same concerns over safety. She just had to remind herself that someone was watching, and that if anything went wrong they would be there to help her in an instant.

The thought of being watched made Heather self-consciously examine herself. Glancing up at her bound wrists and down at her bound ankles, she was reminded of just how much skin she was exposing. The outfit that a moment earlier had seemed perfectly adequate and reasonable now seemed entirely too revealing. Her long bare arms and long bare legs were completely on display. Her stretched, spread-eagle position only heightened the feeling that her body was being exhibited.

"Take three deep breaths."

Heather tried to block out the feelings that she described as panic, but found that deep, slow breaths were impossible. The ragged inhalations passing her lips only served to convince her that she was indeed having a minor panic, and she tried again to get herself under control. The next instruction did not help.

"Attempt to pull your wrists and ankles out of the cuffs," the computerized voice droned. "Convince yourself that you are indeed stuck."

The trapped girl felt silly as she started to follow the instruction, already knowing full-well that she couldn't escape on her own. However, the feeling of the firm leather resisting her tugs set her heartbeat to an even faster pace. She found herself tugging with all her might against both sets of cuffs. A feeling of helplessness washed over her as she failed to extract her appendages or even budge the leather a fraction of an inch.

"Your wrist cuffs will now be released."

The computerized voice cut through the feeling that Heather still described as a minor panic, giving her a quick sense of relief. However, she quickly found that her relief had come too soon.

"You will buckle the strap marked with the letter C around your waist, then place your wrists back through the cuffs marked with the letter B. Proceed now."

Heather felt her panic lessen when her wrist cuffs were released, allowing her to yank her arms free. Then she realized that she must have been placed in the category of test subjects who were responsive to bondage and therefore would continue with the testing. She wanted to tell someone that there had been a mistake. Clearly the vaginal probe was picking up increased blood flow and a higher pulse amplitude only because of the little panic she had experienced. Her blood flow and pulse had surely increased everywhere, not just in the area that the probe was measuring. However, she knew full-well that the parameters of a study couldn't be changed in the middle of the work. As she buckled the wide leather belt around her waist, she actually felt a little sad for the researchers who she would have to inform about the false-positive their tests were giving.

Concerns about the study's validity vanished from Heather's mind as the cuffs around her wrists re-tightened and the belt around her waist began to tighten as well. She didn't realize the belt would tighten automatically and wondered if she had failed to hear the computer say that it would. Regardless, with her arms again trapped, there was nothing she could do to prevent the belt from cinching down. The contraption had been adjusted to precisely the right height so that the wide belt circled her waist just above her hip bones and just below her rib cage. This allowed the belt to squeeze her already narrow waist down further and further like a strict corset.

Heather found herself sucking in her belly to try to make room for the tight belt. Too late, she remembered what the computer had said about the tightness of the ankle straps - that they would be pulled until a specified pressure was met. That meant that sucking in her belly only caused the contraption to pull her belt tighter. By the time she realized that she should be pushing out instead of sucking in, her waist was already squeezed far tighter than she would have liked. She tried pushing out anyway, hoping that the strap would be readjusted to the new pressure, but to no avail.

"Take three deep breaths," the computerized voice repeated.

The trapped girl was getting pretty tired of being told to breathe deeply. Her breaths were even more raged then before, which she blamed on the extreme tightness of the belt which wouldn't physically let her fill her lungs more than a quarter of the way. She glared down at the belt from her spread eagle position and was forced to notice the way her tank-top was being tugged downward over her breasts, exposing more cleavage than she liked and stretching the fabric tightly over the parts that were still covered.

Heather also couldn't fail to notice that her nipples had become quite hard and were poking out against the fabric of her tank-top. The fact that her nipples might be visible through the camera was quite embarrassing. It also made her upset that the researchers might assume this was another sign that she was getting sexually aroused from the bondage, when in fact she knew it was just a physical response to the fabric being pulled over her buds.

"Your wrist cuffs will again be released. You will buckle the strap marked with a letter D around your neck, then place your wrists back through the cuffs marked with the letter B. Proceed now."

Heather was upset that yet another false positive had again caused her involvement in this study to continue, both because it would throw off the results and because she was starting to get rather uncomfortable. The waist belt did not loosen when her wrists were released. She was also quite nervous about placing a self-tightening strap around her throat. If it tightened as much as her belt, she could be asphyxiated! Just the thought of having what would essentially be a collar locked around her neck made her heart race. She told herself this was just caused by a legitimate safety concern, and she tried to get herself under control so that her vaginal probe didn't give any more false readings.

Reasoning that the researchers had of course adjusted the collar tension appropriately, and that any more delay would just further muddy their data, Heather went ahead and buckled the wide leather strap around her neck. She hesitated before pushing her hands back through the wrist cuffs, scolded herself, and quickly got the job done.

As the highly agitated girl had feared, once her wrist cuffs had again firmly trapped her in the full spread-eagle position, the new strap around her neck began to tighten. She tried to flex all the muscles in her neck in an effort to stop the strap early, but she knew it wouldn't be nearly as effective as extending her belly could have been.

The feel of the leather squeezing firmly around her throat set off an explosion of feeling throughout Heather's body. She had never experienced anything like it. The feeling might have been similar to what she felt when the cuffs first trapped all four of her appendages, but it was so much more intense that it was barely recognizable. The girl's analytical mind tried to figure out what was going on. She had to admit that the feeling was quite pleasurable, so the conclusion she came to was that a sense of panic had released adrenaline, and she was feeling some kind of high.

The trapped girl was so caught up in her own emotions that she completely missed the instruction to take three more deep breaths. She wouldn't have been able to anyway. She missed the next instruction as well, but the computer kept repeating it until she finally understood that she was supposed to try shaking her neck so that she could feel that it was being held tightly in place as well as firmly squeezed. This knowledge only served to increase the bizarre feeling she was having.

"Your wrist cuffs will be released again for the final instruction you will be asked to perform. Pull the rubber ball out from the plate behind your head. Place the ball in your mouth, then make sure your hair is out of the way of the two straps holding the ball to the plate before placing your wrists back through the cuffs marked with the letter B. Proceed now."

Heather had hugely mixed feeling about putting anything from this machine in her mouth, especially when she felt the size of the rubber ball. However, the computer had said this would be her final instruction, and she was quite anxious to be done with the study. There were a lot of points she wanted to inform the researchers about, and she didn't want her involvement to drag on for so long that she forgot any of it.

The ball felt even larger as she held it in front of her mouth. Stretching her jaws wide, she was barely able to get the thing past her teeth. She then quickly pulled her hair out from under the two straps that connected either side of the ball to the plate behind her head, and reached up to replace her wrists in the cuffs. The ball was definitely uncomfortable and she wanted to be done as soon as possible.

After her wrist cuffs re-tightened, Heather should not have been surprised to feel the new gag straps begin to retract. Since she had already pressed the ball behind her teeth, she had thought that it had gone in as far as it needed to go. She was wrong. The straps pulled until her head was firmly pressed against the plate behind her, then continued to tug the ball deeper into her mouth. The pulling didn't stop until the straps dug into her cheeks and the large ball was firmly pressing her tongue down.

Heather heard but ignored the instruction to take three deep breaths. How ridiculous. She did not, however, ignore the next statement made by the computer.

"You will now be evaluated to determine whether or not you are sexually responsive to the initial set of bondage restraints."

The trapped girl was confused. Did that mean that the belt, collar, and gag were all part of the initial section of the test? If so, that meant that she hadn't been falsely identified as sexually responsive. What a relief!

"Please shake your body to confirm that you are thoroughly trapped in your present position," the computer instructed.

Heather was now happy to comply and demonstrate what she considered to be her clear plutonic virtue. She tugged at the bonds around her wrists and ankles, tried to wiggle out of the tight belt, and attempted to swivel her head to one side or the other. Nothing moved even a fraction of an inch. She was good and stuck in her spread-eagle position, and couldn't even turn her head to either side due to the collar and gag that held her in place. She had known this would be true, but for some reason actually proving it to herself set off that unexpectedly-pleasurable feeling again.

"Attempt to call for help, to confirm that you cannot speak."

The gagged girl had actually assumed that even with the big ball pressed into her mouth, she would still be able to form some kind of intelligible words. That proved to be entirely incorrect. Her jaws were held wide open, her lips couldn't touch each other, and her tongue was left almost no room to move. The only sounds that came out were grunts and moans. The sound of her own voice, so pathetic and helpless, lifted her strangely good feeling to a whole different level. Even more adrenaline, she reasoned, was making her even giddier.

"Your data will now be analyzed by the researchers, who will determine whether you will continue."

Heather could do nothing but wait, bound and helpless in the small room, as this evaluation took place. The thought of a real human, or multiple humans, reviewing her response to the tests forced her to evaluate herself. Her bare arms were stretched out above her. Her bare legs were out of sight, but she knew they were equally stretched out below her. Looking down her nose, she could see that her boobs were still pressed tightly into her tank top and her darn nipples were still rock hard.

Finally, for the first time since the study started, Heather thought about her crotch. All of a sudden, to her horror, she realized that the euphoric feeling she was having was radiating from there. She couldn't see past the mounds of her tits, but she knew without seeing that she was incredibly wet down there. Why would that be? Her mind spun to try to find a rational explanation. Perhaps the adrenaline had triggered some endorphins, or maybe she had peed a little, or her body was just confused somehow - anything but the conclusion that she had in fact been sexually stimulated by the bondage.

Heather looked up at the camera above the door and realized that at that very moment one or more people, probably men, were examining her body. She was being held, outstretched, on full display for them. They could ogle all the bare skin she was showing off. They could clearly see her hard nipples poking against her thin tank top. They could zoom in on her crotch where they might see the wetness that could certainly be leaking through her shorts.

Feeling naked in front of the eye of the camera, Heather instinctively tried to cross her legs and pull her arms over her breasts. The reaffirmation that she was helpless to hide herself only increased the damn euphoric feeling and undoubtedly the wetness. She tried to scream for the study to end, but her wetness only increased when she heard her own mumbled grunt, which she knew would surely change nothing. She had never been so humiliated. She had never been so hot.

Then she remembered that the researchers could not only see her reactions on their camera, they could also see the intimate responses that were being recorded by the probe lodged in her pussy. She already felt completely exposed, and now it was as if these men could see straight inside her most private parts. Her humiliation reached new levels, and so did her horniness, her heartbeat, and surely the metrics that were being measured by the vaginal probe.

"You have been found to be sexually responsive to bondage and will continue the test," the computer announced.

Inside, Heather already knew that would be the outcome, though she was mortified to have the determination made by a group of unseen men. On one level, her body was excited to continue the test and see where else the contraption could take her. On another level, the girl knew she couldn't accept any more humiliation. She would demand an end to the study as soon as her gag or wrists were released, even though it would mean the researchers would probably have to throw out all the data they had gathered from her.

"Your restraints," the computer said, "will now stretch you into a position that should be uncomfortable but not painful, to determine if discomfort causes you additional arousal."

Having decided that she would exit the study, Heather was caught completely off guard when her restraints began to move. She tugged against them and shouted into her gag, but found herself to be just as helpless as before. For the first time, however, she was really trying to escape rather than just testing her bonds. The fact that she was still out of control, and being manipulated by some machine, shot her arousal to new heights. She knew the bondage was turning her on, but she no longer had any interest in being a guinea pig. She wanted to get free and hide and figure out for herself why the hell her body was responding the way it was. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option.

The contraption lifted the trapped girl off the floor and pulled her bare appendages outward until they were taught. Even her collar was pulled upwards, stretching her neck, and her belt seemed to tighten even more around her waist. As the computer had said, the position was not exactly painful, but it was definitely highly uncomfortable. Even more definite was the fact that it continued to send Heather's sexual response through the roof. She was being man-handled by a machine against her will and was on full display for a camera and probe that recorded her every reaction. This should not have been turning her on, but it was, it a major way!

"Your arousal levels continue to increase, so your discomfort level will be increased further to determine a relationship between the two."

Heather's wrist cuffs began to move behind her back. They were still held out from her body so that her elbows remained straight, but were slowly brought together behind her until her wrists touched. At the same time, her waist belt was pushed forward while her ankles and neck were held in place, forcing her back to bend in a tighter and tighter arch.

The girl tried to get her arousal under control, but was just as unable to control her pussy as she was to control her limbs. Her position went well past discomfort and into pain. She wanted to scream at the damn researchers that they were going too far, but she had no way to communicate. She hoped that at least the pain would dampen her arousal, which would lead the study to stop, but to her continued dismay she only felt herself getting wetter and wetter. The image of her own body, stretched to the limit and obscenely displayed to whoever was on the other side of that camera, just wouldn't leave her head. Her tits were now out of her own view, but she could feel them get pushed even harder against the fabric of her shirt due to the position of her arms. Her hard nipples were surely poking out like rockets, and even though she couldn't see them, she knew they were thrust directly towards the all-seeing camera.

Heather's position continued to get worse as the machine began bending her over at the waist. This initially felt better on her back, and she thought that perhaps her tits would be more hidden from view once she was bent down. However, while bending, she noticed a camera down near the floor that would have a great view of her now-hanging boobs and cleavage. Worse, the new position soon became even more painful than the last as her legs were spread further, her wrists were pushed past each other behind her back, and the collar angled her neck upwards, forcing her to look straight ahead.

The sexually suggestive nature of this new position was not lost on the agitated girl. Her ass was held high atop legs that were held straight and spread. Her tits were hanging below her bent torso and were being pushed into her shirt due to the awkward angle of her arms. She didn't need the damn computer to inform her that increased discomfort continued to show increased arousal. What she wanted to do was inform the researchers that they needed to adjust their stupid machine because it was starting to really hurt. She found out, however that the researchers apparently already knew.

"This position is ninety-five percent likely to be painful," the computer announced. "Your arousal levels continue to increase. You will now be tested to determine if increased pain leads to increased arousal."

Heather couldn't understand how the researchers could justify administering pain without her explicit consent. Perhaps they figured that her continued arousal served the purpose of a tacit consent, sort of like nodding to affirm that the researchers could keep going. She wondered if that would really hold up in front of an ethics review committee, but for the time being it was irrelevant. She was stuck where she was and had no way to prevent them from doing whatever they decided they were going to do.

A whooshing sound caught Heather's attention a split second before a load crack exploded behind her. Something wide and hard had slapped her with a good amount of force straight across her butt cheeks, and it had hurt! While she was still trying to comprehend what had happened, she heard another whoosh and crack, and received what felt like an even harder slap. The machine was spanking her!

The irate girl twisted and yanked at her bonds, but in her awkward position she had even less wiggle room than before. She couldn't turn her head to see what was spanking her or when the next blow would fall, and she certainly could do nothing to shift her ass out of the way. She was an honor student who was being spanked like some naughty school girl, and she couldn't do anything about it! She wanted to feel simple rage at the professors who would surely lose their jobs over this, but another emotion kept intruding. The helplessness and the humiliation just kept feeding her arousal, bringing her to new levels of horniness even as the pain continued to grow.

The worst part was that Heather knew that if she could only get her own horniness under control, then the spanking and the study would end. Unfortunately, she was as helpless to cool her pussy as she was to dodge the blows or voice a complaint. She had always prided herself on her self-control and couldn't understand why it had left her at such a critical time. Why was her body doing this to her? And why did it have to be at a time when she was being watched and recorded by her peers and teachers?

Just as Heather thought the pain in her ass couldn't get any worse, the sound of the paddle behind her changed. It made more of a whistling sound then simply a blunt whoosh. The cracking sound of the impact was also at a higher pitch. A much thinner object hit her at a much higher velocity. The pain was intense, leaving her to wonder if she would have a permanent welt. The thin shorts she was wearing certainly were not offering any protection. She wondered about this for only a couple seconds, until she heard the sound of the next blow, at which point all other thoughts left her head.

Five blows later, Heather was finally given a break. The dazed girl didn't even notice that the blows had stopped. She had been riding high on the pain and the inexplicable erotic pleasure her body derived from it. Once she regained some control of her conscious brain, she figured that the testers must have finally found a point at which increased pain no longer added to her pleasure, and so had thankfully stopped. She would finally be released.

"The maximum allowable pain threshold for this study has been reached," the computer informed her. "Your arousal levels continued to increase the entire time. You will now be tested to see if humiliation leads to additional arousal."

Heather needed more time to process this statement. Deep down, she knew that the worst pain had indeed caused her the most pleasure, but for the life of her couldn't understand why. And now they were going to keep going with the study? They were going to test humiliation? Was she not already as humiliated as she could possibly get?

The contraption that was her captor quickly demonstrated that she could indeed be humiliated further. She felt some kind of mechanical arm grab the back of her tank top and yank. The material tore away all too easily, forcing the now topless girl to assume that it had been designed as a tear-away in case the study got to this point. She couldn't look down to see her bare breasts hanging beneath her, but she could see the cameras directly in front of her. Those cameras now had an unobstructed view of her naked tits. She wanted to die of embarrassment, and the worst was yet to come.

When Heather felt the metal arm grab the top of her shorts, she tried to scream that the experiment was going way too far. Her unintelligible grunts did nothing to stop the arm from jerking backwards, ripping away the shorts as easily as it had ripped her tank top. The trapped girl couldn't see back to her nether regions any more than she could see down to her tits, but she knew that she had been left completely bare, and she couldn't believe it. She was stuck in this incredibly obscene and uncomfortable position, with her whole naked body on full display to whoever happened to be watching the video from the cameras in front of her.

"You should be aware," the computerized voice informed, "that there are cameras mounted on all four walls of this room, including one directly behind you."

The bound girl's humiliation tripled upon hearing this. The thought of being seen naked from the front was terrible enough. A camera behind her, however, meant that whoever was watching had an unobstructed view of her bare ass. She already knew from the spanking that moving her ass was impossible, but she tried to squirm it out of view anyway. In the process, she was reminded that the wide spread of her legs, and her bent over position, meant that it wasn't just her ass that was on display. A camera behind her would no doubt have a full view of now-naked pussy.

That pussy had already betrayed her by igniting a fire of arousal from both the bondage and the spanking. Now it continued the betrayal. Heather knew she was already wet from the crazy emotions she had been experiencing. The thought of her professors getting a close-up view of her wet pussy was mortifying beyond belief, and there was nothing she could do about it. This combination sent her to a yet another new level of horniness. The feel of wetness on her leg indicated that her pussy had gone from damp to positively dripping, and every moment was being captured on camera. She wanted to die. She wanted to explode.

Heather burst into her dorm room and locked the door behind her. She was breathing heavily after the mad dash she had made away from the psychology lab building. Ripping off the clothes that she had blindly thrown back on after the experiment, she noticed something baffling. She was wearing a pair of thin panties and a bra that were not hers. The horny girl would have to figure that puzzle out later. Right then, the only thing that mattered was getting naked and finally launching herself over the orgasmic edge that she had been riding so high for so long.

After fingering herself through at least half a dozen orgasms and slowly getting her breathing and brain under control, Heather picked up the discarded undergarments. When she had run out of the lab, she had been in a fit of fury and passion, but she was sure that she hadn't delayed her exit by pulling on a strange set of underwear. There was only one explanation: that she had been wearing them the whole time. The tear-away shorts and tank top must have had the underwear built-in, and was set up to leave those undergarments in place while the material on top was ripped off.

That meant she hadn't been naked after all. She had only been made to think she was naked for the purpose of the experiment. That type of trick was common enough in psych studies. It allowed researchers to simulate experiences that they would not be allowed to actually create. But what about the beating they had given her ass? Surely that had crossed the line!

Heather stood in her bathroom to examine the skin of her rear, which she was sure would be crisscrossed with welts. To her amazement, her cheeks were only slightly red. Thinking back to the experiment, she realized she must have been tricked in that regard as well. The whooshing sound of the paddle was probably exaggerated by a speaker, as was the cracking sound it made when it hit her ass. In combination with her uncomfortable position, and the inability to actually see what was being done to her, her mind must have convinced itself that the pain was far worse than it really was.

As a senior in the department, Heather knew from experience that it was highly unlikely that any experiment involving human subjects would get approved unless it was carefully vetted. The test had seemed completely outrageous at the time, but the professors had almost surely not done anything that would actually get them in trouble. There would be no academic hearings or punishment meted out to the men who had designed the torment that she had just gone through.

While the pain and nakedness might have been faked, the humiliation Heather had felt was all too real and only got worse upon her new realizations. The panties she had been wearing might have covered up her pussy, but they were soaked through with her own juices. The wet spot would have been clearly visible to the camera that had been behind her. The men behind the cameras had played her body like a fiddle, in ways that she did not even know her body could be played, and they had recorded every second of it. She would be the prime exhibit in support of their hypothesis that women could be sexually aroused by bondage, pain and humiliation. Even if someone doubted the validity of the data from the vaginal probe, the video of Heather's face and of her dripping pussy would surely convince the most skeptical audience.

Heather was furious at the researchers for playing her so artfully. She was even more upset with herself, both for failing to recognize the obvious tricks and even more for being helpless to stop her body from responding the way that it had. Just thinking back about being manhandled by that machine and then spanked in front of an unseen audience made the girl start to breath heavily again. She wanted to believe her increased breathing and heart rate were being caused by her anger, but she could no longer deny that bondage and punishment turned her on. Apparently even the recollection of those activities could get her hot.

What had the experiment awakened within her body? As Heather's fingers plunged back down to stroke her flames yet again, she knew that the experience she had in the lab would not be her last encounter with bondage. Even if it meant rearranging the carefully scripted life she had built for herself, she would find the time and opportunities to see how far this new pleasure could go. Like Eve biting the serpent's apple, one taste of this taboo delight guaranteed her desire for more.