## Archive-name: pavlovian_slaves

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

Mindnumbing Archive Repost

The following is eroitc in nature. If you are under the legal age of
consent in your local jurisdiction, stop reading now. If you are
easily offended, please stop reading now.

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.

Pavlovian Slaves

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.

Last modified (12/24/96 14:17:14) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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