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He
was late, of course. They always were. Undergraduates these days had
no sense of responsibility. They didn't seem to understand that she
had a schedule to keep. Her time was scarce and constantly
overcommitted. Fortunately, he was her last subject of the day, but
she had a long night of work ahead of her nevertheless.
And
the way they dressed. He's probably arrive in a stretched-out tee
shirt, jeans bagging around his ankles and a baseball cap turned
backward. Never mind that she was a member of the faculty. Respect?
She snorted to herself. That went out with the twentieth century, or
maybe the nineteenth.
Of
course the girls were just as bad, with their universally blonde hair
and bare midriffs, pierced navels and painted-on jeans. Just like the
one that Allen had screwed, blatant sexuality and no substance.
Dr.
Knowles grimaced as the familiar pain lanced through her. Damn him!
It shouldn't hurt so much, two years later, but she couldn't help it.
Despite everything, she had loved him, loved him still, never mind
that he was a totally different creature from her. Gregarious,
easygoing, imperturbable, with that quick, crooked smile and those
ever-so-blue eyes. Relaxed and comfortable in his lithe, lanky body,
while the tension sang through her frame. His students loved him, and
no wonder; the way he clowned and postured in his classes, he was
more an actor than a teacher. He always appeared to be enjoying
himself. Sometimes she envied him, even though she knew that she was
more intelligent and a better scientist.
His
bitter laughter echoed in her memory, from that awful night when she
had finally confronted him with his infidelity. "What do you
expect, Jessie, when you're so frigid? I swear, your work turns you
on more than I do!"
It
wasn't true. She ached at the sight of him, his taut muscles and
fluid movements. She adored the heat of him, breathing against her
neck, coaxing her legs apart with his own. There was just something
in her that couldn't quite let go, perhaps some remnant of the iron
control she had needed to exercise in order to get where she was in
her career. Whatever it was, he sensed it. At the deepest level, he
never touched her.
Perhaps,
after all, she had never really trusted him. Of course, in the final
analysis, he had hardly proved himself trustworthy.
Maybe
she was lucky to be rid of him. Since the divorce, she had no
conflicting demands on her time, but could focus entirely on her
research. She should be grateful. It was just a question of adjusting
her perceptions.
A
soft knock on the door of the lab interrupted her musings. Finally!
"Come in," she called, steeling herself for the ordeal of
the next half hour. Sometimes she wished that she had specialized in
animal behavior instead of human cognition.
"Good
afternoon, Dr. Knowles. Sorry that I'm late."
He
was not what she had expected. He appeared more mature than the
typical student subject, in his midtwenties at least, with angular
features and frizzy ginger hair pulled into a ponytail. He wore
well-fitting jeans that were faded but clean, an elaborately
embroidered shirt, a leather vest and cowboy boots. Nobody dressed
like that these days. His flamboyance reminded her of someone she
might have known back when she was a student. She gave him a
half-smile.
"Good
afternoon, Mr. --" She consulted the signup sheet -- "Murphy.
Thank you for volunteering for to participate in my study. If you
will please read and sign this release, we can get started."
Her
subject fixed her with startling eyes the color of jade. "Whatever
you say, Dr. Knowles. But please, call me Ian."
His
stare made her feel extremely odd. The room wavered for a moment,
like air shimmering above hot pavement. She was relieved when he sat
down in the chair to her left and bent over the clipboard to read the
legalese of the document. She turned to her computer and typed in
the passcode to begin the experiment.
The
lab control program generated a number for him, and then randomly
assigned him to one of the three experimental treatments. Group S.
Her stomach knotted. If only he had been in Group A, for athletics,
or even Group V. He seemed very relaxed, not at all the violent type;
she wondered if the aggression materials would have affected him at
all. But the S group... Dr. Knowles swallowed hard, opened her desk
drawer, and pulled out a copy of a girly magazine.
"Now,
Mr. Murphy -- Ian. The purpose of this study is to investigate how
emotion influences perception. For the next ten minutes, I'd like you
to read this publication. Then we'll perform some tests using the
tachistoscope."
"The
what?" Ian grinned at her, jeweled eyes flashing. She felt a
flush climbing into her cheeks. Something told her that he was
teasing her. "'Tackystascope'? Is that for measuring how tacky
something is?"
"Of
course not. A tachistoscope is a device that exposes visual stimuli
for very brief periods of time. Fractions of a second."
Embarrassment made her tone frosty. But why should she be
embarrassed? "It allows us to evaluate perception without the
influence of conscious thought."
"Really?"
Now she was sure that he was mocking her. "Fascinating!"
"Please
read the magazine, Mr. Murphy. I'll let you know when it's time to
move on to the next phase of the experiment."
Ian
just smiled, and began leafing through the images of smooth, abundant
flesh. Dr. Knowles set the timer and tried to ignore him, reviewing
some notes from a previous study. But her eyes were repeatedly drawn
to the pictures that he was so eagerly perusing.
Here
was a woman bent over so that the globes of her derriere filled most
of the page. She was looking back over her shoulder, an inviting
half-smile pouting on her lips. Despite herself, Dr. Knowles felt a
stirring between her thighs. The woman in the picture seemed so --
accessible. Dr. Knowles forced her attention back to the computer
screen, but the whisper of a page turning pulled her eyes back to the
tabloid.
Now
the image was of a slender black beauty, her skin shining as though
oiled. She cupped her breasts in her palms, offering them to the
photographer. Her thumbs strummed over her nipples, which were the
size and color of roasted almonds. Against the slick chocolate of her
face, the woman's teeth were shockingly white.
Dr.
Knowles' own nipples tightened in sympathy, pressing uncomfortably
against the starched cotton of her blouse. Her panty hose were
suddenly hot and constraining, and outrageously damp in the crotch.
What was going on here? She had looked at these images a hundred
times without any kind of reaction. She had chosen these stimuli. Why
were they suddenly having this effect?
Ian
glanced up and she hastily turned back to her monitor, but she knew
that he had caught her surreptitiously examining the photos. Her
cheeks flamed, and the ache grew in her sex. She was careful not to
look up again until the timer rang, marking the end of the
conditioning phase.
"Now
then, Mr. Murphy, we'll move on to the next stage of the experiment.
Sit here, please." She indicated the high, backless stool in
front of the tachistoscope eyepiece, which stood on a table against
the right wall. "I want you to look through here. Everything
will be dark. Then I'll show you some pictures, very briefly, and I
want you to describe what you see. Don't be concerned if you cannot
grasp the entire scene; these pictures are deliberately designed to
be complex. I just want you to tell me what first catches your
attention."
"I'd
rather continue looking at the Playboy," her subject said with
another of those disturbing grins. "But I suppose that I need to
follow your instructions. For the sake of science."
"If
you please." She stepped aside so that he could reach the
equipment, feeling the familiar frustration that the university had
given her such a cramped laboratory space. She deserved better.
Despite
the close quarters, there should have been plenty of room for Ian
Murphy to pass her. Nevertheless, as he did, he deliberately brushed
against her, hip to hip. Startled, she pulled away, and slammed her
backside into the computer desk. "Damn!" she hissed under
her breath. It hurt. She'd have a bruise tomorrow. Meanwhile, she
still felt the ghost of his touch, a kind of warm pressure that
didn't abate even though he was now sitting tamely in front of the
apparatus.
Murphy
was looking at her, clearly amused. Her cheeks burned.
"Sorry,"
she apologized lamely. "This room is a bit tight."
"No
problem. So, I just look through these goggles?"
"That's
right."
"It's
all black."
"The
pictures will start in a moment." She turned and clicked the
button on the screen that initiated the experimental sequence. After
a second, the light in the tachistoscope flashed, briefly.
"Wow!"
"What
did you see?"
"It's
a street scene, someplace picturesque. Paris, maybe. There's a
couple, a man and a woman."
"Yes?"
"It
was hard to see, but I think they were in an alley off to the side.
Her back was against the wall. I think that her skirt was raised."
A
thrill of satisfaction coursed through Dr. Knowle's upright frame.
The apparatus flashed again.
"Hmm..."
"What
did you see this time?"
"A
naked woman."
"Anything
else?"
"She's
on a balcony. One foot is on the railing, and she has one hand
between her legs. She's jacking off."
Jessica
Knowles blushed deeply. There was a woman in the picture, along with
cars, buses, a hot air balloon, a crowd gathered around a unicyclist,
an armed holdup taking place off in a corner, two dogs sparring in
the foreground. But the woman was clothed, and definitely was not
touching herself.
"Are
you sure?" She shouldn't be questioning his perceptions; it
might ruin the experiment. But she couldn't help herself. She'd never
had a subject respond so strongly to the pre-exposure sensitization.
"Well,
it went by pretty fast, but I could swear that her mouth was open and
she was coming. I could almost hear her."
She
gave him a sharp glance, but he was still peering into the scope,
waiting for the next image. His right hand was in his lap, though,
and she was horrified to realize that he was languidly stroking a
substantial erection through the worn denim of his trousers.
Jessica
was sweating now. This man played havoc with her objectivity. Perhaps
she should terminate the experiment right now. The computer sent
another image to the 'scope. Murphy sucked in his breath.
"Whew!
That's hot!"
"What
is?"
"It's
a threesome. Two guys and a woman, mounted between them. She's, like,
suspended from their cocks. One in her pussy and one in her ass. Her
feet aren't even touching the ground!"
"Mr.
Murphy!" Jessica felt panic, but her voice was ice. "Don't
play games with me! Tell me what you really see."
"I
swear, Dr. Knowles, that is what I see. Come and look for yourself."
Flustered
and annoyed, Jessica clicked to pause the sequence, then again to
loop the last stimulus. Murphy relinquished the stool; she had to
hike up her skirt to get onto the high seat. She felt his eyes on her
legs as she got settled.
She
took a deep breath and lowered her eyes to the viewing port. For a
moment that seemed to stretch for hours, she stared into the
blackness, her heart pounding in her ears. A faint trace of a scent
reached her nostrils -- sweat and man-musk. It reminded her vividly,
painfully, of Allen. Then the fluorescent bulbs flashed, illuminating
the scene for an instant.
She
wasn't prepared, wasn't paying attention. The scene was a jumble of
lines and curves; she couldn't make any sense of it at all. Releasing
the breath she was holding, Dr. Knowles tried to relax and
concentrate.
"What
did you see?" Ian asked, alarmingly close. "Did you see
them?"
"No..."
There was a disturbing quaver in her own voice. "No, I didn't
see anything. I wasn't ready."
"Pay
attention, Jessie," he whispered. Then two events occurred
simultaneously. The tachistoscope flashed again, repeating the image
in question. At the same moment, Ian reached his arms around her and
cupped her breasts in both palms.
"Oh!"
She cried out in surprise and dismay. Because she caught a glimpse,
just a hint, a tangle of naked bodies, left of center in the scene.
Her field of vision went dark, but the afterimage burned in her
brain. She didn't know which she found more shocking, the
unexpectedly lurid perception, or the fact that her subject was now
unbuttoning her blouse and sliding his fingers across her bare bosom.
She had always thought that it was ridiculous for her to wear a bra,
considering how flat-chested she was, but in his grasp, her breasts
felt fleshy, full, and exquisitely sensitive.
"You
must pay attention, now. Don't ruin the experiment." His voice
in her ear was honey, warm, sticky, dangerously sweet. The
tachistoscope lit up again, and now the image was clear, the rutting
threesome drawn in obscene detail. The woman's back was arched, her
head thrown back, her mouth wide with a scream of ecstasy. The view
went dark just as her subject grasped both her nipples and twisted
them hard.
"Oh,
please..." she moaned. She had no idea what she was pleading
for. Her sex was damp and heavy. The throbbing that his fingers
induced in her nipples echoed between her legs. She continued to gaze
into the eyepiece, not daring to look at the man who was teasing, was
tormenting her.
The
instrument lit up again. It should have been the same image, but now
Jessie could swear that the man whose penis had been buried in the
woman's pussy now had removed it, and was forcing its rampant length
down her throat. Then again, darkness.
"No,
no, it can't be..." The fingers on her body began to wander
downward, across her belly, but were foiled by the waistband of her
skirt.
"Put
your feet on the rungs and lift yourself off the seat, Jessie. You
can put your hands on the table for support. But don't stop looking
into the machine."
Why
was she obeying him? Her confusion was complete. He loomed behind
her; heat radiated from his body, so close, too close. She squirmed
nervously as she felt him raising her skirt from behind, hitching
down her hose and panties, baring her buttocks. She should scream,
should resist somehow. Instead, she stared into the tachistoscope,
surrendering to the lascivious scene that was playing itself out
before her eyes.
"Arch
your back so that I can reach your butt," he murmured. "Yes,
that's right, that's perfect."
His
hands were cool on her rear cheeks, and gentle at first. Then he
pulled the globes apart, roughly. Fear shot through her, as another
picture filled her field of vision, the woman's bum held open and
exposed by one of her companions, her recently reamed anus gaping.
She tried to speak, to protest, but somehow the words died in her
throat. Her breath left her completely when he bent over and fastened
his mouth on her sex.
He
was brusque and forceful, stabbing into her folds with his hot
tongue. She felt him nip painfully at her clit, then the pain
dissolved into radiating waves of pleasure. She didn't realize that
she pushing backward, grinding herself into his face, riding his
tongue like a jockey riding a mount. Her attention was momentarily
distracted by the picture that flashed before her, the woman now
dangling by her wrists from above, her legs held open by the two men
while someone she could not quite make out plunged an enormous dildo
into the woman's vagina.
"Ah..."
The vision burned into her retina and the rasp of his tongue against
her swollen clit set up a reverberating circuit. With each wet
stroke, her mind elaborated the picture, noticing the juices
streaming from the woman's crotch, the veins on the artificial cock
as it was pulled stickily out of her, the woman's taut muscles as she
strained toward her climax. With each new lascivious detail that
Jessie noticed or imagined, her own cunt gushed and grew more
sensitive.
The
'scope flashed again and now Jessie could see that the person
wielding the dildo was a second woman, raven-haired with pendulous
breasts and meaty thighs. The scientist melted into an animal as
simultaneously the 'scope went dark and Ian thrust three fingers into
her lubricious depths. Grinding herself against his hand, she felt
the first shimmers of an orgasm, flickering in the distance. It had
been so long, too long...
She
shut her eyes, unable to bear the intensity. The lights flashed
again, and even through closed lids, she could swear she saw the dark
woman burying her fist in the other's cunt. Her moan sounded
obscenely loud in the small room.
"Tell
me, Jessie," Ian said softly, the hint of mockery still there
even as his fingers danced inside her. "Tell me what you want."
"No...
don't call me that. He used to call me that."
"Your
husband? He was a fool to let you go, Jessie. So what should I call
you then? Jessica seems too formal, don't you agree?" He flicked
his thumb across her engorged clit, making her squirm. "Jess?
Jezebel? How about that, my scarlet woman? You seem quite inclined
toward fornication this evening."
"Oh..."
Jessie could not speak. The orgasm crept closer, teasing her.
"Tell
me what you want, Jezebel, and I'll give it to you." He suddenly
slipped a finger into her anus, and she screamed at the deliciously
rude invasion.
She
couldn't see him, behind her, but she could imagine his grin. She was
mortified and at the same time eager, eager to have him use her, to
open her body to him. The tachistoscope flashed another image, but
now she was fully occupied by the sensations he was generating in her
sex, and the tantalizing, distant vision of her climax on her body's
horizon.
"What
do you want?" he whispered in her ear, wriggling a slick digit
deep into her bottom. "Say it."
She
could barely choke out the words. "Please... please, make love
to me."
"Make
love?" he laughed. "No, that's not quite right, is it? Say
it. You can say it, Jezebel. You won't shock me."
"Fuck
me," she whimpered, finally, undone by his mouth and hands. "I
want you to fuck me."
"All
you had to do was ask," he said softly. He turned her around to
face him. His cock protruded from his jeans, jutting proudly toward
the ceiling. She blushed, then moaned as he lifted her from the stool
and settled her on that thick stalk of flesh. The sensation of him
sliding into her was both strange and wonderfully familiar. With
thighs and cunt muscles, she gripped him hard as he carried her over
to the narrow bench on the opposite side of the room.
Holding
her up by her naked buttocks, he hooked the bench with his foot and
pulled it away from the wall. Then he set her with her back against
the polished wood, momentarily pulling out of her. She could not
help grimacing at the obscene slurping sound her cunt made,
reluctantly releasing his penis. Ian grinned, straddled her, and
drove his cock back into her, pinning her to the bench.
For
a moment, the force took her breath away. Then the pleasure welled up
inside her, wave after wave, synchronized with his fierce thrusts.
She tilted her pelvis, twisted against him, trying to force him
deeper. His penis grazed her womb, and the twinge of pain only
brought the pleasure into higher relief. Teasing her still, he nearly
withdrew, lightly rubbing the bulb of his cock against her engorged
and aching clit. Electricity shot through her. She closed her eyes,
overwhelmed.
"Pay
attention, Jessie," he reminded her. "Look at me." She
fixed her gaze on his eyes, which were bottomless green pools. She
felt transparent, light, suddenly free of her past, her present, her
self. As he sank back into her depths, she clutched his shoulders and
relaxed her cunt, opening to his probing. He went deeper than anyone
ever had before. Her climax hovered nearby, just out of reach.
"You
don't recognize me, do you?" he gasped between thrusts. She
arched toward him in silent answer. "Two years ago. I was in
your Psych 202 class. Sat in the very front." He slammed his
cock into her, suddenly angry. "You never noticed me, though,
did you? You weren't paying attention..."
He
eased his attack, became more gentle. "God, I loved to watch
you. You seemed so cool and competent, a creature of intellect, not
passion. But I knew. I could feel your frustration. I always knew
that I could give you what you wanted, what you needed... When I
heard your husband had left you, I thought, good riddance."
"When
I saw you on campus, though, you always seemed to be deep in thought;
I didn't want to interrupt. I sensed that you weren't ready. Not
yet..."
His
thrusts accelerated suddenly. He pistoned in and out of her, faster
than she could have imagined, fractions of a second, instantaneous,
driving himself, driving her to the peak. Then all at once she was
there, at the top and tumbling over the edge into blissful oblivion,
laughing and crying at once as she felt him pumping his own release
into her.
It
was dark when she regained control of her thoughts. She lay there
still, in disarray upon the hard bench, her back and buttocks
deliciously bruised.
Her
cunt was empty, but still vibrating with recollections of pleasure.
Semen had dribbled out all over her skirt, which was bunched beneath
her.
The
room was empty, she could feel it. He was gone.
Her
mind whirled. She would have to throw out his data. Maybe the whole
experiment had been rendered invalid... What had happened, anyway?
Had he somehow tampered with the lab control software? But that
wasn't possible, the lab was secure, she was sure of it... Did she
have his phone number, his email address? She'd have to get back in
touch, to apologize, to make amends for her totally unprofessional
behavior...
Without
her realizing it, her hand drifted to her pussy and casually grazed
her still-sensitive clit. A bolt of excitement shot through her,
leaving delicious echoes in its wake. The tachistoscope, still
cycling in its loop, flashed in the dark room. She remembered the
images of concupiscence it had revealed and smiled to herself,
stroking one finger slowly between her slippery labia.
Never
mind working tonight. She needed a long, hot bath. She'd think about
the experimental implications tomorrow. And she was nearly certain,
yes, quite sure, that she had included a field for email address on
the volunteer sign-up sheet. It wouldn't have been like her to omit
an important detail like that.
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