The Sex Doctor Chronicles: Pavlov’s Pussy

By Adam Madison

I am a sex doctor, but not in the traditional sense. I’m commonly mistaken for a person who treats sexual dysfunction; quite the contrary. I specialize in nurturing these so-called dysfunctions, especially sexual addictions. Of course, it doesn’t say “Sex Doctor,” on my office door. I prefer “Erotic Occupational Consultant.” I provide services to the high-dollar brothels of Europe, upscale Las Vegas strip clubs and, on occasion, the lowly inner-city pimp. I can transform timid dancers into full-fledged exhibitionists, and I can make an Asian whore crave cock.

I own and operate a small medical building in an urban center of America where things like this are easily overlooked. My occupation basically boils down to simple psychological conditioning that has been employed by behavioral scientists serving corporations, military, religion and other major institutions of society. Sometimes these specialists fall under different names—manager, sergeant, priest—but they all perform the same task of conditioning human behavior. Their strategies are so engrained into the system that the practitioners even apply them unknowingly.

Consider the bell. People around the world are conditioned to respond to various tones in specific manners. Children feel the impulse to run to class. Blue collar workers take a break or prepare for lunch. In Christian sects, the toll of the bell is even more profound. But there is one bell that is of critical importance to my profession, and that is the bell of Ivan Pavlov. This physiologist discovered that a bell could provoke the saliva glands in hungry pooches. We all know the experiment: Pavlov rings a bell. Pavlov feeds dog. After much repetition, dog hears bell and, voila, saliva. This remarkable discovery led to the development of what we now know as classical conditioning.

Now, I am a sex doctor, so I don’t deal with animals. The only exception was a mule that I met in Amsterdam, but that’s a surprisingly boring story. Instead I work with gorgeous little nymphomaniacs from around the world, and I am telling you that I can provoke their vaginal secretions simply by ringing a bell. This may sound insane, but I have proven it during one five-day-long experiment. I took on the project after making a bet with Mr. Garza, a personal friend and a famous entrepreneur in the sex industry. I was trying to secure an account with his international chain of strip clubs when I started explaining how I applied this theory to sex training.

He said, “Doc, if you can show me how to make a girl’s twat wet by ringing a bell, I’ll give you the account.” He completely misinterpreted my explanation, but it was an interesting wager and a multimillion-dollar account.

Mr. Garza is a silly little man, albeit rich, that sports gold chains entangled in a carpet of graying chest hair. He has the ’70s’ disco ensemble to match, which he believes distracts people from his balding head, which easily is seen by anyone taller than 5’5”. He is the walking stereotype of sleeze-bag pornographer, but his connections are plenty. He built an empire of erotica and insisted that he had just the girl for the job.

Her name was Katja, and he assured me that she would be willing to try anything. He discovered her in a German BDSM club where she worked both dominant and submissive roles. She loved punishment and humiliation; crawling around on her hands and knees, licking semen from the floors of dungeons. I thought this would be an asset, as I would have to administer varied techniques in order to condition her appropriately. She had an additional quality that also was ideal for this project, but that will be explained later.

Mr. Garza told Katja that I was an ordinary physician with a thing for patients, and I wished to role play. A white lie, but it was for the good of science. She was essentially a prostitute. However, it was perfectly legal because Mr. Garza made the arrangement overseas with foreign currency. He said that I could do anything that I wanted to her.

She arrived at my institution, wearing a black trench coat and carrying a small suitcase in each arm. I introduced myself only as The Doctor. She immediately set down her suitcases and dropped her coat to the floor.

“Docteur,” she said. “I am Katja.”

She looked me in the face with such confidence that I had to look down to avoid the stare. I focused on her shiny, black stilettos encircled by the fallen trench. From there I began my visual survey from the ground up. She had a petite frame that did not live up to her attitude. She was barely five feet tall and could not have weighed 100 pounds. Her small but muscular legs were dressed in black, thigh-high nylons that provided a perfect contrast to her milky skin. She wore no underwear, leaving a small tuft of dark hair exposed. I wanted to reach out and pet her like a soft little kitten. I continued my gaze up her flat belly to her ample breasts, which were pushed together by a black, lacey brassiere. Her face, neck and shoulders were just as pale as her upper thighs and lower abdomen. Her chin came to a point and her white teeth had a mousy overbite. The hair on her head matched the dark tuft below and was cropped close to her skull. Judging by her face, she ranged 19 to 22 years of age, but carried herself like true woman.

“Do you like what you see, Docteur,” she asked. “This is yours for five days.”

I advised her not to talk, and she bit her lip and stood at attention like a well trained bitch. I walked around her like an animal of prey, taking in her scent, but was careful not to look directly into her eyes again. It is best to avoid social relationships with sexual subjects. I also strive to avoid direct sexual contact, as “romance” destroys an experiment’s validity. It goes unsaid that this is the most difficult aspect of being a sex doctor. I salivated at the mere sight of her, but I thought that my will was strong.

I directed her to the examining room and instructed her to change into the gown hanging on the back of the door. It was the traditional hospital gown that we all find ourselves wearing at awkward moments. These gowns tie in the back and leave the rear end degradingly exposed. I left her sitting in the small room with the door closed for about an hour. There was little stimulus in this room; no magazines or radio, only a painting of a lighthouse for her to stare at under the buzz of fluorescent light. It was the most mundane piece of art that I could find. The thermostat was set 10 degrees cooler than the temperature of the waiting room where we met.

The wait is a deliberate tactic employed by most hospitals and doctors’ offices. It serves to numb the patient or dull their senses, basically break them down a bit. The gown helps create a feeling of vulnerability to promote dependency on the nurse or physician. I manipulate the temperature because there is enough correlative data to suggest that cold renders a person more passive and less resistant to persuasion.

While Katja waited, I sat at the front desk drinking my coffee and rummaging through the suitcases she left behind. The first suitcase contained her clothing, toiletries and cosmetics that would get her through the week. The contents of the opposite suitcase were much more interesting. She had bondage gear: nylon cord, handcuffs, ball gag, leather blindfold, a dog collar and leash, and a cat o’ nine tails. She had water-based lubricants, along with a series of dildos and vibrators of all shapes and sizes. There also was an entourage of silky and lacey articles that would be useless. [Women associate their sex appeal with power; something I would strip from her.]

Much of this paraphernalia I left on an instrument tray for quick access later. I left it on the front desk and reported to the room. Already Katja had situated herself into my customized examining table. This contraption was very similar to something that would be found in a gynecologist’s office with a few modifications. Unlike the table in the gyno’s office that allows an upright seated position, mine leaves a patient flat on their back with their legs spread in the air by stirrups. This is a more submissive position, so it is easier to separate myself from the person that I am poking and prodding. Another unique feature is the safety rails that I had installed after a few accidents that occurred while I was administering therapy.

Katja looked comfortable and had broken into a masturbating frenzy. She intensely gripped a rail with one hand while she frigged herself with the other. She rubbed her clit with fast, circular motions. Her neck and back arched in orgasm, as she moaned with delight. I could plainly see that she was dripping wet between her white thighs. As her body shuddered, she slowly came to a rest.

“Mmm, I’ve been a bad little gurl, docteur,” she said, as she rubbed her breasts through the cotton fabric of the gown. “I think you should poonish me.” Slowly she worked her hands below her gown to part the lips of her pussy and show me her pink inside. “Please docteur.”

“I will,” I said. “And DO NOT speak!”

I left momentarily, returning with three items: the blindfold, the ball gag and a set of handcuffs. I needed to take more drastic measures, if I was going to condition her properly.

This episode was a major setback. Katja already had provoked the desired response, without the presence of the conditioned stimulus of the bell. This event also reinforced the notion that she had control of her body. However, I was determined to see this experiment through and secure that contract with Mr. Garza.

I used the handcuffs to secure her hands to the safety rails of the examining table. This would prevent her from touching herself further. She continued to speak, “Docteur, I am a bad, bad gurl,” but I corrected this by forcing the ball gag into her mouth and tightly buckling it at the base of her skull. Finally, I shut out her light with the leather blindfold and stepped back to regain my composure. Her body writhed between the handcuffs clinking along the stainless-steel safety rails. If she was not sexually excited, she was one hell of an actor. I left her alone for two more hours, restrained in silent darkness.

Sensory deprivation is a common tactic among military interrogators and so-called brainwashers around the world. It proved very effective during the early stages of Camp X-ray in Guantanamo Bay. For days, alleged terrorists were cut off from their own senses of taste, touch, smell, sight and hearing. They were forced into a black world and pushed inward to the recesses of the mind. The longer they resided there, the further they lost touch with their own identities and beliefs. Their minds became soft like clay to be molded, making it easy to extract or insert any piece of information.

Of course, I could not fully utilize this methodology because both auditory and tactile sensations were critical to the experiment. However, if I could limit her existence to these two basic mechanisms, I could create a neurological pathway between the two. By repeating the physical equation [Bell + Sexual Stimulus = Vaginal Secretion] enough times, I could likely condition the response of [Bell = Vaginal Secretion]. Essentially, I would be creating what my industry refers to as a fetish.

I began applying stimulation in small doses after Katja’s two-hour intermission. When I entered the room, I was very careful to avoid making even the slightest sound. I even removed my shoes, walking on the cold tile in my bare feet. She was perfectly still beneath the sheet-like gown; soft like a fresh mattress waiting to be laid upon. With her black hair and crimson lips, she resembled Snow White with the apple-colored ball gag stuck in her mouth. I wanted to submit my own self to her, but there was work to be done.

I carried in the instrument tray stocked with the fun array of sex toys and gadgets. I set it down within reach of the stool that I centered between her suspended and spread legs. I took my seat and stared directly into her exposed vagina. There was no sheen of wetness or apparent odor of arousal. It merely waited like an untouched dessert, topped with a tuft of fur. Her erect nipples poked against the cotton fabric, but I attributed this to the temperature of the room. She seemed unaware of my presence and appeared to be startled at the first sound of the bell.

I allowed her a moment to distinguish the sound, before standing to brush each of her hard nipples beneath the cotton gown. I gave the bell a second ring and sat down. I placed my face inches from the genitalia and blew air on it softly. I provided these tactile stimulations in shifts, alternating between her breasts and vagina, while methodically ringing the bell. I persisted for several minutes until I finally noticed a moist glob welling near the perineum. She moaned slightly, and I dismissed myself.

I returned exactly one hour later and selected a “Pocket Rocket” from the instrument tray. It was a small vibrator specifically designed for stimulating the clitoris. I positioned myself on my stool between her thighs still suspended in the stirrups. I went to work slowly, ringing the bell and applying the device for only a few seconds. I waited approximately 10 seconds before ringing the bell again and further stimulating her. Each application increased successively by about five seconds. These times are estimated because I found it difficult to manipulate my stopwatch while keeping a constant rhythm of vibration on Katja’s clit while simultaneously ringing the bell. I stopped at about the 55th-second interval. At this point, she was again straining against her handcuffs. She undulated at the hips, as she tried to grind against the instrument. I watched her nostrils flare, as she panted through the ball gag. I took this as a sure sign that an orgasm was imminent and stopped.

I left, carrying both the bell and vibrator in the front pocket of my lab coat. Fluid now was dripping into the crack of her ass. Her moans persisted long after I had left the room. I listened to her unsuccessful attempts to plead for more, and I felt a massive erection straining against the fabric of my trousers. Like Katja, I was being tortured by my own pleasure.

Never before had I felt such power and control over a subject. It became increasingly erotic with every session. I could make Katja feel whatever I wanted, at any time and by any means that I could imagine. Slowly, she sank deeper into a blackened bliss beneath the blindfold. Soon all that would exist for her would be the ring of the bell and her sexual tingling. As she lied there, all she could do was anticipate one or the other and further regress into her most primitive self.

I paced outside of her room, counting the seconds to the next hour. I was anxious to return to my throne between her legs. I felt dangerously close to breaching the unwritten contract that I maintained with my subjects. I knew this would be the session that broke this code. I was no longer a passive observer in a neutral experiment since I placed myself in the position of power. Despite this hierarchy, however, I too was finding myself in a sort of bondage.

During the next session, I utilized three of the vibrators. She had dried in the cool air, so I had problems with my first attempts at insertion. To compensate for the awkward application, I put my mouth on her to provide an adequate experience. Her pubic hair tickled my nose. There was a tinge of ammonia, as I ran my tongue up the length of her slit to the hood of her clitoris, which I pulled back with my thumb. I sucked her swollen clit while fucked her with my fingers. I paused only momentarily (about every 30 seconds) to ring the bell.

As her secretions welcomed additional fingers, I probed deeper to ready her for the first of the vibrators. This instrument was a mere six inches long and tapered at the end. Like the first session, I applied the device in small increments by inserting it methodically. As her heart rate and breathing increased, I would stop and let them subside. I followed up with a ring of the bell, as I switched to a vibrator of a larger caliber. I maintained upward pressure, as I worked them in and out to stimulate infamous G-spot. Each application took her closer and closer to orgasm until I ruthlessly relinquished all stimuli, leaving her desperate for more. Muffled moans of intense disappointment echoed, as she begged. I did not scold her for trying to communicate, as leaving her alone in her dark world was more critical.

She arched her back, trying to push her pubis into my direction in search of the pleasure object, which was increasingly associated with my bell. I sat silently, careful not to disturb her, at the session’s end. It took several minutes, but she eventually submitted to her silent, blindfolded void. Against all of my will, an erection throbbed as I studied her body and motions. This was going to be it.

I left the room for a mere 20 minutes because I simply could not wait any longer. I returned wearing only a condom on my penis that jostled out of my opened lab coat. I was going to ring my bell and fuck her brains out, but I quickly discovered that the examining table was too high to properly align our genitalia. I had to move her, but I was afraid of jeopardizing the results with uncontrolled noise. Yet, there was no turning back because I was no longer in control of my sexual appetite.

I fetched a pair of earplugs, rolled the foam between my fingers and inserted them into her ear canals. To further suppress the sound, I placed an industrial pair of muffs on her head. It would have taken well over 120 decibels to reach her. I unlocked her handcuffs from the rail but left them attached to her wrists, so she would not sense their absence. With a safe audio barrier and the continued veil of darkness between us, I retrieved the collar and leash from her suitcase and fastened it around her neck. She did not seem the slightest bit alarmed. Her body took on the bearing of lump of sexy clay. I lowered the stirrups and got her to her feet, carrying most of her weight with her arm draped across my shoulders. She had been subdued for too long, however, and sank to the floor as she succumbed to gravity.

She laid there like a worm at the dawn of evolution, as she reassociated herself with the sensation of solid ground. She began with a wriggle and then found her knees, as she rested on her forearms. The gown left the small of her back exposed that arched into her round buttocks. I lightly tugged her leash, coaxing her upwards to her palms so that she could crawl. I urged her forward with the sting of the cat o’ nine tails on her naked ass. She moved only slightly, so I slapped it hard with the palm of my hand. She moved several more feet, while I admired the five-fingered imprint appearing on her white ass. Thereafter, only taps with the cat whip’s handle were required to maintain a steady crawl without having to drag her like a stubborn animal. If she slowed, a good smack would speed her along, as I guided her by the tension of the leash. All the while, I pumped my sheathed penis to maintain an erection.

I led her down the hall to the room that I kept for my psych operations. It was furnished with the stereotypical leather sofa popularized by the early psychoanalyst. I’ll admit to purchasing it merely for novelty’s sake, but this day it was a valuable asset. I took the crawling Katja to it and placed her hands on its cushions. I then gave her ass a push, and she mounted it on all fours. This position allowed an ideal angle for a rear entry. I petted the small of her back, above the raised welts, and removed the muffs and ear plugs. I gently loosened the drawstrings of her gown and let it fall around her wrists. I gave the bell a ring and stroked her pussy until I knew she was ready. I grasped my penis, shook the bell hard three times and pushed my prick inside of her. Her moist box welcomed it, and her pussy muscles clamped around me. She did not want to let go; nor did I.

I rang the bell again, changed positions and continued her fucking her furiously. Locked in coitus, we humped like animals until I finally pulled out in anticipation of my own orgasm. She exploded in a convulsion that ejected an intense stream of fluid from deep within her, drenching my lab coat. This was truly an amazing feat. As fluid ran down my chest, I reentered her only to provoke another torrential gush. I withdrew again, this time removing the condom in order to return the favor and shower her body with semen. It was a healthy ejaculation, but it was nothing in comparison.

Katja was one of the special women in the world capable of female ejaculation. There is much controversy surrounding this phenomenon in the scientific community. Many simply dismiss the fluid as urine that is forced out under pressure, as the interior walls of the vagina become engorged with blood. This can happen, but, after observing Katja, it is apparent that there is much more at work.

The constant sexual stimulation apparently created a buildup of fluid secretions from the paraurethral ducts. Many believe this to be a product of the G-spot. This liquid was violently expelled from her body during the convulsion of her vaginal walls during orgasm. This clear, odorless liquid was what dripped from our bodies. It was incredibly sexy, and we laid in it until it dried on our skin. Katja clutched at my body, as I was all that she had in her current state.

I could not fully imagine what she was experiencing, after so many hours without light, sound or the ability to move on her own. Existentialists that engage in sensory deprivation have reported feeling a regression in evolution or into their mother’s womb. It was my goal, however, to reduce Katja to a simple mechanism working on sound and tactile sensation. Under the right circumstances and with enough time, I imagined that I could reduce her to a mere piece of flesh with the demeanor of a house plant that moistened for pleasure upon hearing a bell. Certain men would pay good money for such an arrangement.

I could keep her body sustained on an IV solution and let her slip into a nearly vegetative state as I conditioned her. However, there were ethical limits and possibly OSHA regulations, so I prepared for her release. I at least had to feed her.

I dimmed the lights for the sake of her retinas but also to limit her exposure to new visual stimulus. I unbuckled the strap to free her jaw. Her mouth continued hanging open, as she stretched her mandible back and forth. I removed the blindfold and watched her eyes slowly process her surroundings. Finally, she investigated her own body by rubbing her hands all across it, as if she were searching for where she ended and the couch began. She stopped at her genitals, which I imagined were still heavily stimulated. She sat up.

“Oh docteur, you give me good orgasms,” she said. “Mmm, sehr gut.”

Again, I told her not to speak. As I mentioned earlier, sensory deprivation renders the human mind very malleable, so she was quick to comply. “You may shower in that room. I will have dinner prepared for you when you return.”

“Yes, gut.” she said.

“DON’T TALK.”

I admired my conquest as she walked toward the bathroom. Her legs shook slightly as if she had just returned to land after a long voyage at sea. I turned the lights up only slightly, just enough for her to maneuver. I needed to minimize her exposure to extraneous stimulus that could interfere with her conditioning. I lit some candles and allowed her to soak in the bath. As she stared blankly at the flickering flames, I called an upscale restaurant down the street. The owner is a former phone-sex operator that I once coached on seductive phrases and proper tone. We are still on good terms, so I easily can persuade her to have a bus boy deliver.

Together, we enjoyed salads with raw avocados; along with grilled salmon decorated with pineapple and almonds. For desert, I wanted the darkest, most intense chocolate available. I have read that all of these contribute to a healthy libido. Chocolate is a notorious aphrodisiac, but I am skeptical about the others. So many health foods are alleged to have this effect, but it is my belief that any healthy diet is adequate. If you eat good, you feel good. Also, the fat slobs shoveling McDonalds and Pizza Hut down their gullets are much less likely to get laid. Either way, I thought that a good meal would help; I promised Mr. Garza that I would not administer libido-enhancing drugs.

I dressed her in flannel pajamas, the most comfortable and least appealing that I could find. I would have preferred to keep her nude or in sexy lingerie, but I did not want her thinking of sex outside of our allotted time. I ate with her, but continued to firmly discourage her from speaking. She remained stunning, even after our sexual appetites had been appeased. I studied her features from across the table, which transformed in the candlelight. Her face was like the cover of an unread book, which I craved to unlock. But without verbal communication, I was only teasing myself.

Katja fell fast asleep after dinner. The relentless muscle contractions that she experienced during orgasm must have been exhausting. And the neuro-hormones in the brain would have calmed her and left her in a naive state of trusting. I too was feeling the effects and happily retreated to my own sleeping quarters to dream of tomorrow.

When light is removed the brain begins production of melatonin, the sleep inducer, as well as dimethyltryptamine (DMT), a natural psychoactive, which can be found in magic mushrooms. These chemicals encourage dream states and make us naturally reflective. The inundation of total silence has a similar impact on the brain. Katja was now questioning who or what she was, and her existence would be redefined over the next four days.

Each day I primed her with an hour beneath the blindfold. She wore the ball gag and remained handcuffed the entire time that she waited. I added a pair of heavy gloves and socks to further limit the tactile sensations that were not associated with sexual arousal. Doing so likely multiplied the amount of sensations experienced by her sex organs. After all, a man rendered blind develops hearing more acute than which he had with sight. To limit extraneous sounds, I created the white noise of a constant radio static. This became part of the natural environment, and she eventually would be conscious only of the conditioned stimulus of my little bell.

After the first hour, I entered the room and provided only mild stimulation with the tips of my thumbs and fingers, pinching her nipples and flicking her clitoris until her vagina moistened. I then left her alone for another hour and returned with the Pocket Rocket. I’d work her over methodically until she started to pant. I stopped again until her heart and breathing returned to normal, only to reapply. The next hour, I began with the vibrators that increased in size as time elapsed. For the final hour, I returned with the leash and ear plugs and made her crawl to the psychology room, where I would fuck her on the leather sofa. Each day ended with the explosive gushing and squirting, while my bell rang zealously.

On the fourth day of our arrangement, I deliberately broke our routine, providing only intermittent reinforcement. I had successfully programmed her to experience lust by the bell. It was her only link to existence while in her void of deprivation. So like Pavlov’s dog, her body prepared itself for the treat upon hearing the stimulus. When I rang the bell but withheld the reward, her secretions doubled in anticipation. For the first two hours, I rang the bell but never touched her, deliberately leaving her disappointed. On the third hour, I rang the bell. Only this time, I licked her. I used the Pocket Rocket on her clitoris and fucked her with all of the vibrators, taking her nearly to orgasm before leaving.

I let her air dry for the remainder of the day until I finally returned with my bell. She grew wet instantly. Her glistening hole actually pulsated, trying to grasp anything that it could make contact with. It was again time to unlock her wrists and lower her legs from the stirrups. I secured the leash and made her crawl to the psychology room. This being the fourth trip, she could successfully maneuver blindly by memory. I did not have to tug the leash in any direction, yet I still spanked her ass for entertainment. I rang the bell while I fucked her from multiple angles.

This was my last full session that I had scheduled with Katja, so I took things a bit further then I had prescribed. First, I removed her gown to inspect her body. I had taken on a feeling of ownership, so I admired her like my BMW. Naturally, I wanted to drive her at top speed, but I felt we were stuck in third gear. I needed to experience more than just a submissive piece of flesh.

I pulled the gloves off of her because I wanted to feel her fingernails digging into the flesh of my back. I removed the ball gag to hear her moans and cries. She responded best to deep, consistent penetrations from behind. I maintained a constant rhythm until I drew closer to orgasm. I then laid Katja on her back and kissed her ankles, while I removed her heavy socks so that I could suck her salty toes. Finally, I removed the blindfold, and she met my eyes with that same intense stare. Only this time I felt no need to look away. I placed the bell in her hand. She clasped it like a cock and rang it as we both came, creating a combined waterfall from the inside the depths of her pussy. She continued stroking the bell’s handle, as I eased out of her.

“That is the source of your pleasure,” told her.

She did not attempt to speak, and I returned her to the normal routine. She showered, while I used a towel to dry our juices off of the floor and furniture. I fed her and put her to bed.

I was uncertain, how the physical manifestation of the conditioned stimulus would alter her reactions, if at all. I was afraid that it might saturate the neural connections between the bell and the desired response. I still regret allowing her sight. Regardless, the time had come, and Mr. Garza would be arriving the next day. I arranged for a 2 p.m. meeting. During this time Katja would be in her usual position waiting for the first application of the stimulus.

Mr. Garza arrived on time with his chest hair and matching bling. I presented him with the bell and escorted him to the room where his whore waited.

“So this is going to make Katja cream her panties,” he asked. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“She’s not wearing any panties,” I informed him. “Just the standard hospital gown.”

“Of course,” Mr. Garza replied. I caught him rolling his eyes, but I maintained a professional demeanor.

“You see, conditioning the human mind and its response to stimuli is not a simple process. It takes time, consistency and perseverance.” As I ushered Mr. Garza to the examination room, I explained some of the methodology behind the experiment. I instructed him precisely on how to proceed. Still, this did nothing to minimize the initial shock.

Upon opening the door, we were hit with the frosty air as the door opened. Mr. Garza stopped dead in his tracks, as he took sight of Katja lying on her back with her legs spread by the stirrups of my customized contraption. I had to nudge him forward before he would seat himself on the stool between her white thighs. She was freshly shaven by my own hands the night before because I wanted her well displayed, but I will admit to missing her little fur ball when it was gone. Her smooth pink beaver stared back at him, waiting for the signal to turn on the flow. Katja, was breathing shallow, sleeping or just blissfully floating in the dark.

I whispered to Mr. Garza, “Ring it.” With mild apprehension he did so, as he continued to stare at our specimen. “Again,” I said. Slowly—but surely—we watched her pussy begin to respond. He rang it again, and she slowly began to rock her hips. Soon there was no denying that the experiment had been a success, as the secretions formed and her vulva swelled.

“Holy shit, I am a believer,” he told me. “I will sign your contract immediately. You can train all of my rookie strippers, and I will throw in a handful of my younger porn stars.”

In mid conversation, however, he stopped what he was saying and jumped from his stool. He had been startled by the eye-level erection trying to burst from my pants. I was first embarrassed, but Mr. Garza was a smart man with a good sense of humor. He just chuckled, saying, “It appears that you may have also conditioned yourself this week. Eh, Doctor?” He gave it a back-fist and said, “You still have Katja for another three hours, I will leave the two of you alone to play with your, huh, bells. We can work out any details tomorrow.”

For our final rendezvous, I left the bell on my instrument tray and freed her from the examining table. I carried her upstairs, where I kept an apartment. There, I had her; no blindfolds, bells or buzzers—just good hard sex. I only wish I would have remembered to bring some towels.

_______________

Adam Madison is a writer, journalist and photographer. He spends much of his spare time writing out his daydreams, which include--but are not limited to--sex, drugs and violence. He is a firm believer that so-called “smut” can and does have literary value. His most current work, “The Sex Doctor Chronicles,” explores human conditioning, as it relates to sexual psychology. His "ErotiKill Picture Show" dares to show his readers the lasting consequences of the pornography epidemic spreading through the Internet.

The Sex Doctor Chronicles: Pavlov’s Pussy
© 2010
by Adam Madison

 
     
     

 

 



Banners


Home | Fiction | Illustrations | Epigrams | Romans
Liaisons for Laughs | Random Frivolity | Weblog
Vocabulary
| Hightower's Antics | Reviews
Pawtawnee Chronicles
| Poetry | Fiction Archives

Staff
| About |
Contact
Contributors
| Submissions | Links


Copyright 2001-2011 Sliptongue
unless otherwise noted. / All rights reserved. Reproduction
of material, in whole or in part, from any Sliptongue pages without
written permission is strictly prohibited.