The Experiment
Week Eleven—Monday
Today Professor B suggested that I might find my session more relaxing in his bed. That sounded so nice. I’d already made myself quite comfortable in my usual chair, but lying down sounded even more enjoyable.
He took me by the hand and led me upstairs into the bedroom. I really didn’t notice anything, all I could see was the bed and how soft and inviting it looked. It was beckoning me; I felt such an urge to go to sleep in that lovely bed. I lay down, relishing the sensation of the silky sheets against my naked body.
As I lay there, I seemed to drift off even further. I felt like I was sinking into the mattress. My body was so heavy, although my mind was in the clouds. I kept slipping deeper and deeper, and it felt so good.
After a while, I started having a daydream about Professor B. I imagined that he was lying in bed naked next to me and beginning to fondle me. Mmmmm, what a lovely fantasy. He’s such a sexy man. I thought about how much I’d enjoy kissing him. My lips felt all tingly and warm, and it was so easy to imagine that we were kissing. My fantasy seemed so real.
He fondled my breasts for a while, stroking my tight nipples, then he rolled me over and gently parted my legs. I wanted him inside so much. He was whispering in my ear, and whatever he was saying was getting me so hot. I reached down, took hold of his penis, and guided it into me. It felt so good. I was so full of his cock. I don’t usually use words like “cock” and “cunt,” they sort of turn me off, but in this daydream that’s how I was thinking about it. His cock was in my cunt. His cock was filling my cunt. I wanted him to pound his hard cock into my wet and willing cunt. I imagined I was calling out these words, begging for it. “Please, fuck my juicy cunt with your stiff cock.” I don’t know why, but saying things like that got me even more aroused.
I’m not sure what Professor B was thinking, with me lying there having this sexual fantasy during our session. I wonder if he could tell? I’m sure I must have been flushed and panting, I was really into it. I guess I should be embarrassed, but for some reason I’m not. Thinking about it now, I’m still feeling really horny. I might have to go to bed early tonight so I can take care of myself!
Week Eleven—Tuesday
I don’t have much free time these days. When I’m not participating in Professor B’s experiment, I’m studying, or writing this log. I haven’t been out with a guy in weeks. That doesn’t bother me, though. I just don’t seem to be as interested as I use to be.
I wonder if it’s because I’ve been fantasizing about being with Professor B? There, I’ve admitted it. I think I have the hots for him. I seem to be spending more and more time thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, to touch him, to have him make love to me. I wonder if he likes me? I mean in that way—in the same way I like him. Maybe if I dress more provocatively he’ll notice me. I think I’ll try that.
Week Eleven—Wednesday
The session with Professor B was quite interesting today. After I was relaxed and comfortable, Professor B showed me some photographs of women. I was supposed to look at them, and tell him about what I saw. He had a whole stack of pictures, most of them clipped from magazines. The photos showed women in daily life—in the office, shopping, caring for children, playing sports. There was nothing particularly interesting about these; I glanced at each quickly, and told Professor B a bit about each one.
When I finished the stack, he handed me another smaller group of pictures. These were distinctly different from the first set, and I responded to them in quite a different way. The first few photographs showed women being hypnotized. There was one of a woman holding a crystal pendant, staring at it raptly. Another picture showed a woman gazing into a man’s eyes. Yet another was an oriental woman looking upward into a flashlight, her eyes half closed. These photographs riveted my attention. I felt tingly and excited as I lingered over each one. Hypnosis is such a turn-on, and I was imagining being the woman in each of the photographs.
The next few photographs were of women undressing. A woman in a red dress was unbuttoning her top, revealing the curves of her creamy breasts. Another showed a beautiful blonde who had just unsnapped a front-fastening bra, and was starting to remove it. A dark-haired woman, naked above the waist, was sliding a skirt down. Just the tops of her panties were visible, and her face had a lovely, relaxed smile, her eyes closed. There was a woman lifting one leg to step out of her panties; the camera beautifully captured her rich dark fur and pink lips.
These photographs had quite an effect on me. My breathing was heavy, and the tingling in my body grew more and more intense. I can’t believe how turned on I was getting as I looked at the pictures. I’m not sure what I was telling Professor B, all I know is how completely captivated I was by these images of women stripping naked. It was so easy and exciting to imagine that I was each of them—revealing my body, letting the exhibitionist within me have free rein.
The photographs that followed were even more intense, and I began softly moaning as I gazed at them. I couldn’t help myself. They showed women having sex. There were no men in the pictures—well, cocks and hands, sometimes a man from behind, but no full images of men—all the pictures focused on the women. They were being fucked in different positions—standing, kneeling, straddling, lying down. Some of the women had their eyes closed, others were gazing at their partner or into space. All of them were loving it—they had such excited, aroused expressions. And I was loving it. I could almost feel the men inside me. I was so hot, so turned-on, so completely engaged.
It’s quite odd, really. I’ve never liked pornography. Actually, I’ve been quite down on it in the past, both for political and esthetic reasons. Besides the fact that it’s demeaning to women, I’ve never found this sort of picture to be appealing in any way. Today, my reaction was a complete about-face. I loved the pictures. I loved them. I wanted to be the women in the photographs. I imagined a cameraman snapping photos as I was getting a long hard dick slammed into me. I almost can’t believe I wrote that. It sounds so different for me. But it’s true. I was completely and totally aroused; all I could think about was how much I wanted a man to fuck me, and that it would be even more exciting if other people could see it.
The last photo in the stack was of a woman with long reddish hair. She was completely naked and kneeling on the floor before a fully clothed man. Her breasts were firm, her nipples very tight and extended. Her eyes were lowered and her head bowed. Around her neck was a heavy, black leather collar. When I saw this photograph, I started to cum. I was the woman in the photograph. It was me. I was kneeling like a slave, wearing a collar. I was helpless, being controlled. Oh my god. I couldn’t stop cumming. The photograph was so intense. The more I looked at it, the more I could see it really was a picture of me. A naked slavegirl. Oh, oh, oh. I came, and came, and came. I wanted to be a slave. I burst on me, suddenly, intensely, the certainty, the excitement. And I kept cumming. I think I finally passed out.
When I awoke, I was in my own room, in my own bed. I wanted to write this down right away, while it was all fresh in my mind. I think I’ll go to bed now, I feel so drained.
Week Eleven—Thursday
I dreamed about the photograph last night—the slavegirl photograph. But this time, I was in the picture. I was the girl in the photograph, and it was completely real. I was kneeling at my Master’s feet. He owned me—I knew this with a deep and complete certainty. I was hypnotized, and he had complete control of my body and my mind. I’m not sure how I knew this, since it wasn’t really part of the dream, but I did. I knew it as surely as I know my own name.
I could feel the leather of his collar around my neck, firm, tight enough that I was continually aware of its presence, but not so tight that it caused discomfort. I could feel my bare knees on the hard floor. I was naked and intensely aroused. I could feel how hard and tight my nipples were, how wet my pussy was.
My head was bowed. I didn’t have permission to look up. All I could see were my Master’s boots and the cuffs of his trousers. But I could feel his presence. I knew he was gazing at me. I could almost feel the intensity of his eyes, trained on my body. It was strange, I was looking at his feet, and yet I was also staring helplessly into his eyes while spinning down into deeper and deeper trance.
Then I heard his voice. Deep and commanding. “Tell me who you are.”
“I’m your slave, Master. I must obey you.” The words came from somewhere deep inside me. I didn’t think about them, I didn’t will them, they simply flowed forth with no thought. It was like turning on a tape recording.
“Tell me what you do.”
“I do what you command. Your words control me.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want to please you. My only desire is to serve you more deeply.”
I knew that I was programmed to respond, and each response heightened my arousal. I was so turned on. Each phrase seemed deeply meaningful, completely true. I needed to obey. I wanted to obey. I felt helpless and controlled. I was completely submissive, and yearned to please. I was excited beyond belief. And then I woke up.
I was still incredibly aroused, and began to stroke myself. The imagery from the dream was so intense. I came almost immediately, continuing to imagine his voice and my posture of submission. I felt so sleepy after my orgasm and drifted off.
It’s strange. I couldn’t see the man in the dream and his voice didn’t sound familiar, but somehow I knew it was Professor B. Actually, his voice was familiar, and it was Professor B’s voice; but the Professor’s tone, always soothing and gentle, in the dream was firm, strong, controlling. It was a side of Professor B that I haven’t experienced in real-life, yet it seemed so very, very real in my dream. I wonder what these dreams are about. They seem so very odd. And yet they excite me in ways I’ve never before experienced.