Cassandra woke up in a haze. Her head hurt. Her vision was blurry. She wasn't sure what had happened. As she lay there for a few minutes and her sight returned, she looked around. She was in her dorm single. At first she couldn't remember much, but her memory returned quickly.
She sat up. What had happened? It had been a Sunday night and she was on her way to the library to do some studying ... mostly studying the guy behind the counter whose name she'd forgotten. She passed a blue van in the parking lot near the gym, and she was snatched. They put her in handcuffs and in the van, and then they opened a can. They all had gas masks on. The can must have had some knockout gas, because that was the last thing Cassandra remembered.
When she remembered all this, she panicked. Had those strangers done something to her? She rushed to check herself in the mirror. As far as she could tell, her physical appearance was unaltered. That settled her a little bit, because she was very proud of her incredibly sexy barbie form ... her long blonde hair was combed and beautiful, her full D-cup breasts intact, her slim form, it was all the same. In fact, she looked better than acceptable. She had makeup on and was wearing a skin-tight black dress that was only about seven inches below her crotch. Underneath was black lace underwear. She looked ready for a night on the town.
How long had she been gone? She grabbed her cell phone. It was Monday evening. She'd been out less than 24 hours, not nearly long enough for anyone to notice her disappearance. Whoever these people were, they were organized.
While checking her phone, she saw she had an unread text message. She looked. It read: "Call 555-4321."
Anxiously, she dialed the numbers. The phone didn't even ring before a soft male voice answered: "Glad you called, Cassandra."
"Who ... is this?"
"You can call me Dr. Smith for now. I'm a psychologist. Well, in the loosest sense. No psychological organization recognizes me after my many ethics violations. But my research in psychology is quite revolutionary."
"Did you do something to me?"
"Well, of course. You were carefully selected. I implanted a device in your brain. It's pretty brilliant, really. I use it to study sexual self-control. The device can recognize whenever you have an orgasm."
"You picked me specifically?"
"Of course. This study is about the ability to resist orgasm, so we picked a young lady in her sexual prime who was, shall we say, a slut."
Cassandra stuttered.
"Don't think I don't know of your sexual activities," Dr. Smith continued. "Men, women, gangbangs, all of it, and multiple orgasms every time. And you masturbate nearly twice a day. That's an impressive collection of vibrators you have, by the way. But I digress. You were selected because of your love of cumming. And now, you need my permission before you cum."
"Your permission?"
"Don't think I'm restricting you forever from orgasm. That would ruin my experiment. It would make it to easy for you; you'd simply stop masturbating and getting laid. Not that that would be easy for a slut like you, but I want you to still have sex, still masturbate, etc. But you can text, fax or call this number at any time of day, 24/7, for permission. I can deactivate the device remotely."
"So if I want to masturbate, I text you first, and get permission?"
"Oh, Cassandra, how simple you think it is. No, you must contact me at the moment you want to cum. If I give permission, it will mean you have 30 seconds to orgasm, or the device will reactivate. Don't worry, I'll get back to you instantly, every time."
"And what happens if I cum while it's active?"
"Then your body freezes up, my men come and get you and bring you back here. And then ... well, let's just say you don't want to cum while its active."
Cassandra paused. She was frightened and didn't know what to say.
"Look at the time," said Dr. Smith. "According to your schedule, you have a date with that boy Dave you've wanted to fuck all semester. That's why you're dressed as you are. He'll be at your dorm in about five minutes. Hope you're horny, darling. I know Dave is."
And he hung up. Cassandra dropped her phone in panic. Was all this true? Was this a prank? She'd have to have sex to get permission to cum, and maybe she'd have to refrain from cumming. Or was the experiment to see if she'd believe him? Would she test that? Was that worth the risk? Oh God, she didn't know what to do, but she couldn't risk it if this were really done to her. She WAS really kidnapped, after all.
There was a knock on her door. |