From: ii361@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Ray N. Velez)
Subject: PAVLOVIAN SLAVES By Unknown
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
220 102523 <460v01$r55@baldhead.cs.unc.edu> article Path: ix.netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!chi-news.cic.net!simtel!news.kei.com!eff!news.duke.edu!news-server.ncren.net!concert!ashe.cs.unc.edu!not-for-mail From: ladd@cs.unc.edu (Brian C. Ladd) >Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: MNA: Pavlovian Slaves (mc mf fd tg ft en ws) 01/01 Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Date: 17 Oct 1995 15:08:49 -0400 Organization: Mindnumbing Archive Lines: 431 Message-ID: <460v01$r55@baldhead.cs.unc.edu> Reply-To: ladd@cs.unc.edu NNTP-Posting-Host: baldhead.cs.unc.edu
The curator of the MNA most likely did NOT write the story which follows. Authors, when known, are acknowledged in the body of the file. Assemble the various parts of related messages, removing everything outside the [BEGIN] [END] markers and you'll have the "complete" story. See the MNA Index posted to alt.sex.stories.d for chapter counts and synopses.
If you have similar materials, please repost them, too.
Comments, encouragement, and additional material for the archive gratefully received; flames, repost requests, and e-mail requests rapidly dispatched to the void.
If you're an author in the MNA and you do not want your story reposted: Contact me at ladd@cs.unc.edu and I will remove your story from the reposting list. If you're an author of an Unknown story and you want to take credit for it, contact me as well, please.
When I opened my eyes, I could barely see. I felt groggy
and couldn't think straight. I remembered leaving a nightclub
with a woman I'd met there, but I didn't know where I was or
how in the world I got there.
Then I felt a hand on my chin, turning my head back and
forth. "Are you waking up?" a woman's voice asked. "Come on,
Rick, wake up."
My vision started to clear and I could see the woman
from the club looking down into my face. I tried to sit up,
but I was tied into a dentist's chair and couldn't move.
"There," she said. "You're awake now. I drugged you at
the bar, so you may feel a little groggy."
Then she left the room, and I closed my eyes and tried
to think. Who is this woman and what the hell is she up to?
I must be dreaming, I thought, shaking my head. Then I
began to get the full picture. My upper arms and wrists were
bound to the armrests, and there were straps just above both
my ankles. My body was shaved smooth and I had been dressed
in a black, lace bra and panties with a matching garter belt
and stockings. I wasn't wearing shoes, which let me see that
my toenails were painted dark red.
What kind of weirdo am I dealing with? I wondered. Then
she walked in, carrying a pair of patent-leather pumps with
six-inch heels. "Who put you up to this?" I asked her,
thinking it was somebody's idea of an elaborate, unfunny
practical joke.
"So, are we fully awake now?"
"Let me up." I said. "What the hell's going on, anyway?"
"Be quiet," she said. "You'll know everything soon
enough." She stepped on a pedal at the base of the chair and
my feet were raised up to her waist. When she started putting
the shoes on me, I tried to stop her.
"Look," I said, "this has gone far enough. I mean, fun's
fun and all, but now I think it's time..."
She gave me a patient smile, then grabbed my balls
roughly. "This is no joke. You will cooperate with me."
Oddly, it was at that moment that I realized how
attractive she was. She was in her mid-thirties, tall and
slender, and wearing a tight, short, black leather skirt,
dark hose and high-heeled pumps. Her long, dark hair framed a
face of cruel beauty that regarded me with clinical
curiosity. Her lush bosom and full, stark-red lips turned me
on, despite the circumstances. But then she gave my balls a
hard squeeze that nearly made me pass out. I grunted and
writhed in pain.
She put the shoes on my feet as I groaned. I could feel
the snug, tight fit around my toes as she pressed the shoe
over my heel. I was startled at how feminine my legs looked.
"Now," the woman said, "that's much better." She raised
me back to an upright position, then walked to a curtain-
covered wall in front of me.
"I want you to get a good look at yourself," she said
before pulling the curtain back and revealing my reflection
in a mirrored wall. My face was made up like a prostitute,
with heavy eye makeup and red lipstick. And my hair had been
moussed into a very feminine style.
"Well," she asked me, "what do you think of your new
look?"
"I think this is crazy," I told her. "I look
ridiculous."
She smiled that patient smile again and walked over to
me. Then she slapped my face hard enough to ring my ears. A
flash of anger shot through me and I started to say
something, but she slapped me very hard five or six more
times. I was stunned into silence, my anger completely
subdued.
"Now, you do not look ridiculous. You look very pretty,
don't you?"
I said nothing, and she hit me again. I saw stars and my
head ached.
"Don't you look pretty?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, afraid of her now.
"Say it," she commanded.
"I look very pretty," I said.
"Good," she said, smiling.
Then she stepped up to me and kissed me hard, her tongue
probing my mouth while her fingers lightly twisted my
nipples. My cock stood up under the lacy panties. I didn't
want to get a hardon in front of her, but couldn't help it.
She looked at my erection and smiled. Then she lowered
my head nearly to the floor and released my right wrist. I
could move my hand toward my body, but I could not reach
outside the armrest.
"Now, I want you to masturbate."
"What?" I said. I couldn't believe it.
Without warning, she pressed her foot against my
windpipe, choking me. "You will do what I say, and you will
not question my orders again," she said while I was gagging.
"Is that clear?"
"Yes," I croaked when she raised her foot off my throat.
"Now masturbate!" she ordered.
As she stood over me, observing me, I began to
masturbate.
"Very good," she said. Then, as I stroked my cock, she
slipped off her high-heeled pump, raised her well-shaped foot
and began lightly brushing my lips with her toes. Through the
mesh, I could see her crimson-colored toenails. As she
brushed her toe across my lips, I felt myself nearing orgasm.
"Open your mouth," she said. When I did, she eased her
toes between my lips. "Now suck," she said.
As I began to suck her toes, I was writhing with
pleasure and, with her toes moving gently in my mouth, I
closed my eyes and had a tremendous orgasm. I mindlessly
continued to suck her toes as my cock pumped out the sticky
cum. She slowly moved her foot away from my mouth as I lay
there feeling embarrassed and humiliated, yet savoring the
undeniable pleasure I felt.
When I finally opened my eyes, she was standing over me
with a hypodermic needle. I was afraid to speak as she pushed
it into my arm.
"This won't hurt you," she reassured me. "You're going
to sleep for a while. I'll explain everything to you when you
wake up." Then she left the room. With the sound of her heels
clicking in my ears, I looked at myself, dressed in frilly,
lacy lingerie, and passed out.
I was having a troubled dream. In it, I was meeting the
woman at the nightclub. I could see her come up to my table,
just as she had done the night before, and ask to join me. I
could see myself looking flattered as she asked seemingly
innocent questions about who I was, what I did, whether I was
married, things like that.
Then I could see her slipping some clear liquid into my
beer and smiling as I blabbed on about myself. Suddenly, the
dream vanished and I could hear her saying, "Good, you're
coming around."
I was groggy again. Slowly, I was able to focus my eyes
and I could see her sitting in a chair across from me. I had
been moved. This room also had a mirrored wall and I could
see myself clearly. I was tied, sitting up, in a casual
position. My legs were crossed and tied at the knees and
ankles. My arms were extended along the back of the sofa and
tied securely.
I looked very feminine. I had on white stockings and
high-heeled pink pumps. I had on a crinoline petticoat under
a pink dress that came to just below my knees. Through lacy,
pink gloves, I could see my pink-lacquered nails. My face was
made up to look like a debutante. Then I felt something
inside of me and I squirmed. "What you're feeling is a
tampon," she said.
"A tampon?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "You will be wearing one from time to
time."
"But..." I started to protest, but she stopped me with a
warning look.
She stood and began strolling around the room. She was
devastatingly sexy in a black, tight, very short dress that
molded to her body. "I am Doctor Janice Monroe," she said,
"and this is your chance to ask questions."
"You're a doctor?" I asked.
"I am a psychiatrist," she said.
"But I'm not crazy," I said.
"No, you're not," she said. "That's one of the reasons,
among others, why I selected you for my experiment."
"Experiment?" I asked. I didn't like the sound of this
at all.
Her heels clicked as she walked back and forth across
the hardwood floor. "Yes," she said. "I was researching
sexual fetishism and the effect it has on men's lives. I
began to realize that fetishes could be induced in men, and
then used to control them.
"With you, and the others, I will induce these fetishes
through hypnosis and operant conditioning."
"Operant conditioning?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "As was done with Pavlov's famous dog.
I picked you because you are a young, successful businessman.
If this can be done to you, it can be done to others like
you.
"A group of powerful businesswomen is funding the
program," she said. "If, through my techniques, they can gain
control of key men, well, you can imagine what they might
accomplish."
I was afraid now. This wasn't some weirdo playing a
joke. This was a well-organize, well-funded experiment. I had
never felt so helpless in my life.
"It might interest you to know," she continued, "that a
camera behind the mirror is taping every phase of this
research for my associates to study."
I looked at the mirror in shock and embarrassment, but
all I could see was myself dressed like a woman.
"When I have finished," Dr. Monroe explained, "these
women will see you enslaved and feminized by an intense
sexual desire for my feet."
"It won't work," I said, trying to hide my fear by
sounding confident.
Without answering me, as if to emphasize my loss of
manhood in the face of what I had just said, she walked up to
me and said "Open your mouth and prepare to suck my toes."
Without hesitation, I did.
Smiling, she sat next to me on the sofa and began
kissing me lightly on the neck and lips. Every time she
moved, I could feel the tampon deep inside me, making me feel
pinioned and helpless.
She leaned back and slipped off one of her shoes, then
brought her beautifully arched foot up and pressed her toes
to my lips. And, despite the camera, I began to kiss her
toes.
Then she stood, pressed her foot against my crotch and
flexed her toes against my hardon. "There," she said, "you're
erect." She sat down in her chair and crossed her legs. "Now,
I want you to concentrate on my foot."
I watched her foot, swinging gracefully, slowly back and
forth. I could see her painted toenails through the dark mesh
of her hosiery.
"Now, relax totally," she said.
I knew she was hypnotizing me and I could feel myself
being drawn to stare at her foot. With a sudden flash of
fear, I looked away. Without a word, she took a remote-
control type device and pushed a button. The sofa had been
wired and an electric shock made me scream.
"Now," she said, "you will concentrate on my foot."
I did as I was told. I watched the lovely foot move back
and forth as her voice began to drone in soft tones. I was
getting drowsy and the last thing I remember was seeing her
move her toes back and forth gently, the red nails glistening
as my erection throbbed.
There were sounds disturbing me, but I didn't want to
wake up; I was dreaming about her feet. I could see her
walking in those high heels. I could see the swelling curve
of her instep and the sheer, dark hosiery stretched tightly
across the tips of the pretty toes. These dreams made me feel
warm and aroused. But the sounds continued, and I began to
come around again. The realization of what she was doing to
me began to interrupt my dreams.
Events seemed hazy and unclear, I guess because she kept
me drugged. But I remembered one session clearly.
I awoke, naked, in a bathtub, with my arms tied across
my chest. She was standing over me, also naked. It took my
breath away to see her bare breasts and exposed vagina.
She turned the water on. It came in a single, warm
stream aimed at the underside of my cock. She told me to
twist my nipples, but I hesitated. She slapped me three or
four times, hard enough to snap my head back. Then, with the
water hitting my cock, I began to do as she ordered, and I
got an erection.
She leaned over and kissed me, probing deeply into my
mouth with her tongue, and then stood up. I was hard,
writhing in pleasure and pain under the water stream. As I
continued to twist my nipples, she hung an enema bag in the
shower and inserted the nozzle into my fully exposed rectum.
She filled my bowel with warm fluid and told me to hold
it. I was overcome with sexual excitement, feeling near
orgasm, when she lifted her beautiful foot, told me to open
my mouth and put her toes between my lips. I can still hear
her commanding, "Now suck."
In mere seconds, I had a shuddering orgasm and released
the warm fluid she had put in my bowel. I felt totally
shamed, yet I couldn't bring myself to stop sucking her toes
until she drew them gently from my mouth while smiling down
at me. When it was over, as usual, she rendered me
unconscious.
There were many other sessions, in different rooms, tied
in different positions, some even outside in broad daylight.
But I was always dressed as a woman and usually wearing a
tampon. If I didn't follow her orders exactly, she would
punish me by slapping me or shocking me, or by putting a
thick dildo in my anus. Then she would give me an erection
and I would either masturbate while kissing her toes or she
would hypnotize me while I gazed at her feet.
Those images were bothering me as I began to come
around. I could hear movement in the room, but I kept my eyes
closed. I had to think.
I had no idea how long Dr. Monroe had held me captive,
but I had a business to get back to. And besides that, she
was messing with my mind. Despite everything she had done to
me, I was falling in love with her. And every time I thought
of her feet, I felt aroused. I had to try to escape before it
was too late.
Then I noticed things had gotten quiet and I barely
opened one eye. I immediately realized I was not tied up. I
was alone in a large room and like in the other rooms, one
wall was curtained.
I had on a sweatsuit and sneakers. It could only mean
one thing, I thought: She'd made a mistake. I had come around
sooner than expected. This was my chance to escape from her.
Moving quickly, I tiptoed to the door and opened it. A
starry night was before me. I was free. But just as I started
to step out, I heard her soft voice say, "Rick, please look
at me before you go."
My instincts said to haul ass, but for some reason I
looked at her. The sight made me catch my breath. She was
wearing a long, tight black leather dress that glimmered
softly in the light as she moved. A slit up one side gave a
flash of her long, beautiful leg. "Before you go, Rick, come
to me one last time," she said.
One last time won't hurt, I thought. I'm not tied up;
she can't stop me now. With that thought, I walked up to her.
She stood before me like a magnificent queen, but I knew I
could resist her. I didn't look at her feet because I wanted
to show her that her experiment had failed. "Your little
experiment didn't work," I said, looking straight into her
confident eyes.
"You can't leave, Rick," she said.
"Oh? Who's gonna stop me?" I said.
"You will, Rick," she said.
"No, this little game is over, Doc," I sneered as I
turned to go. "I'm not playing any more."
"Rick," she said softly.
"What?"
"Look at my feet."
And for some reason, I did. I looked back at her feet
and stopped in my tracks. They were breathtaking. She was
wearing a pair of high-heeled black boots with silver heels.
The heels gleamed like liquid moonlight.
Like a deer staring into headlights, I was paralyzed.
And, as I stood there, the curtain behind her was raised. I
had actually been on a stage, and before me were several
wealthy-looking women sitting as if at a play. They
applauded.
None of this had been a mistake, I realized. She had
planned it all from the start. She was smiling at me, "I gave
you that chance to leave to demonstrate that you would obey
me rather than escape."
I stood in defeated silence before her.
"Now," Dr. Monroe ordered, "urinate in your pants."
I just stood there, astounded, still thinking I could
resist her. She tapped the heel of her boot twice and,
despite myself, I pissed down my leg. The women applauded as
the dark stain spread down my sweatpants.
"Take your clothes off, Rick," Dr. Monroe said. "Wipe
yourself off with this towel and put these one." She handed
me a bundle of clothes.
I stripped off the sweatsuit and, standing naked and
humiliated before all those women, dried my leg. Like a man
in a trance, I put on the clothes she had given me. I slid
sheer red stockings over my legs and fastened them to a red
satin garter belt. Then I put on a red, lacy bra and red
high-heeled pumps.
She told me to bend over and then she inserted the
condom-covered handle of a small feather duster into my anus.
The crowd laughed. Dr. Monroe smiled at me, then tapped her
heel three times.
Without another word from her, I kneeled and began
making love to her feet. With my feathered anus up in the
air, I pressed my lips against her boots, slowly sliding my
tongue over the soft leather. I gently caressed the pointed
toe of each boot with my lips. I was becoming erect.
"Stand up now, Rick," she said. As I did, she continued,
"Show us how you learned to walk, sweetheart."
I don't know how, but I knew to begin walking with small
sissy steps, with my ass thrust back and swinging so that the
feathers swished. I could hear more laughter from the crowd.
I didn't want to do these things, but I was doing them
anyway. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized that Dr.
Monroe had enslaved me, just as she said she would. I wanted
her feet more than anything.
Then she clapped her hands and I again kneeled before
her. She pulled back her skirt to reveal her garter belt. She
was wearing no panties; her pubic bush was before me.
As I watched, she filled a small cup with her urine,
then said "Lick me clean." I licked her vagina with long,
slow strokes.
Dr. Monroe said, "Very good, Rick. Now you may have your
reward."
I rolled over on my back and began twisting my nipple
with one hand while masturbating with the other. She stood
next to my ear and I shivered with excitement when I heard
her slip off her boot. She held the boot to my lips and I
licked every last inch of it eagerly.
Then she brushed her toe lightly against my outstretched
tongue. She raised her foot slightly and I lifted my head off
the floor, trying to reach it with my tongue. She smiled at
me.
She lowered her foot and pressed her nylon-covered toes
gently to my lips. I was in heaven. I kissed the underside of
her precious toes passionately, urgently, savoring each one.
I felt dizzy with sexual excitement.
Then I came so hard my body twitched and my eyelids
fluttered. My rectum convulsed around the feather duster and
I almost fainted.
After a brief pause, she snapped her fingers and I stood
up, assuming a very feminine posture. Overcome with shame and
humiliation, I began to cry, sobbing loudly. At that, the
crowd exploded in applause, cheering wildly.
Dr. Monroe drew me close to her and whispered in my ear,
"It's all right, Rick. I'll always be with you. You'll be all
right." I surrendered my manhood to her right then and knew
that from that moment on I was at her beck and call forever.
Soon after her "demonstration" she let me go. But from
time to time, I'll answer my phone and hear a high-heeled
shoe tapping. I always go to her when she calls because I
long for her beautiful feet. I eagerly serve her even though
it means helping enslave other men. There is nothing I won't
do for Dr. Monroe because what she wants is all that matters
in life to me now.
Brian C. Ladd, Curator, Mindnumbing Archive MNA is *not* affiliated with the University of North Carolina; it is a personal project which the University will neither acknowledge nor condone.
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