The Damsel Hypothesis

The following story contains semi-consensual bondage, humiliation, nudity and other sexual content. Please don't read it if you're likely to be upset by these elements.

1. John

I paused outside her room, doing my best to get my heart rate under control. No one else had the power to make me this angry... but then again, no-one else had the power to make my heart melt either. Only love could drive me this mad.

But

was

it love? My feelings about Amy were complicated, to say the least. She was easily the prettiest girl I had ever met: aged 22 like me, she was dark haired, green eyed, slender but bosomy, and bewitchingly beautiful. (Her mother was Japanese, her father Boston Irish, but neither offered the slightest hint of supermodel genetics.) She was intelligent, too, and could have been top of her class with a little application. The problem was that she very rarely felt like putting in the work.

Which was where I came in. We were lab partners, although the word 'partners' is doing almost as much heavy lifting in this sentence as I did in the lab. She knew I loved her - was besotted, had a crush, whatever - and that this gave her the power to get away with murder. She made me do all the work, treated me like crap while I did it, and barely even looked me in the eye, let alone thanked me for all the effort I put in. "Is that the best you can do?" she said to me in our last session together, after I did the entire experiment and gave her my write-up to copy. "Can't you at least write a second essay in different words? I think you must be

stupid

."

Yep, she was that oldest of male cliches: the cruel beautiful woman.

The whole thing was definitely getting old for me. I had finally had enough, and rushed over to her room in a fierce temper to set the matter straight. Although, now I was here, it suddenly seemed like less of a brilliant idea... Maybe I could wait until tomorrow to have the conversation.

But then I heard her voice, and realised she was on the phone. It wouldn't hurt to eavesdrop for a moment while I gathered my thoughts together.

"The guys here? Ha! There's not a real man among them," she was saying in her high, clear, deceptively sweet voice. "I doubt I could find a man worth dating in the entire campus. They're all simps and soyboys. Not one of them could put me in my place. And until I find someone who can, I'm staying single."

Well now. This was an interesting development. And gave me an idea for a new experiment.

2. Amy

I looked down at my phone, which had just shouted out "I'm an idiot!" in the voice of my lab partner, John. I had set this up as the ringtone whenever he called or texted me, which he did far too often for my liking. (How did I get a recording of him saying he was an idiot? I asked him to do it, and he agreed. Which shows that he was, in fact, an idiot - or at least in love, which amounted to the same thing as far as I was concerned.) The guy was kinda almost cute, in good shape, and undeniably smart, and I had to admit that his attentions were flattering. But he was just too

nice

for his own good.

I sighed and read the text he had sent me.

"Hey Amy. I've written up the results of the last experiment. Do you want to pop over and we can discuss it? Then we can get on with planning our next experiment. John x"

Ugh! Why did he always put a kiss on the end of his texts? Surely I'd made it clear I wasn't interested... except, of course, when I thought it would be useful for him to think I might be interested in the future. Ha! He was so easy to manipulate. And if he wasn't intelligent enough to see what was going on, that was his own fault.

Well, there was no way I was going to do the work on that stupid experiment myself, so he was going to have to write up a second essay for me. I would go round to his pathetic room with all of its pathetic books and pathetic posters and flirt with the idiot until he agreed to do what I wanted... and then I would walk out coldly. The meaner I treated him, the keener he seemed to get. I smiled, thinking about how sad and mopey he would be when I left. The poor guy was head over heels and I couldn't help getting a kick out of it.

I went over to the walk-in wardrobe (I'd managed to get the biggest room on campus by flirting shamelessly with the housing officer) and started picking out an outfit to give John a hard-on. I chose the shortest skirt (navy blue, pleated, schoolgirlish) and the tightest top I owned (white, midriff-baring), took a look at myself in the mirror - all smooth skin, long legs and pert tits - and locked the door behind me. Who could blame him for falling in love with me? I was stunning.

Walking over to John's room on the crappy end of campus, I thought again about his text. What did he mean by "our next experiment"? It was the last day of term and most of the students had already left for the vacation. He must have gone mad.

I got to John's room and he let me in, smiling. There was something about him that seemed... different, somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it but he seemed older, more confident. I'd soon have him eating out of my hand, though.

I sashayed in and gave him a little twirl, knowing this would make my skirt rise up and give him a glimpse of my panties. I wanted to drive him mad with lust before telling him what I wanted. But before I could say anything he held up a hand and starting talking.

"Amy, I asked you to come round so we could talk about the project. I'm sure you'll agree that the division of labour just wasn't equitable, and I hope we can agree to do better in future."

"What are you talking about?" I cried.

"We both know that I did all the work on this," he replied calmly, holding up a neat bundle of pages. "And that just isn't fair on either of us. I'm doing the work of two, and you're missing out on a first-class education. I should have said something long ago, but we need to change the way we work together. Would you agree?"

"No, I wouldn't! I could do this experiment in my sleep! You're the one who needs an education, not me, you, you - moron!"

"How would you determine the titration coefficient of copper sulphate solution, Amy?"

"That's not-"

"How many moles are contained in each mil of zinc substrate, Amy?"

"You don't-"

"How does increasing pressure affect the speed of sublimation, Amy?"

"What does that-"

"I mean, heavens, can you even tell me if potassium is a metal or a non-metal?"

"Er... a non-metal?"

"Oh, Amy. You haven't learned a single thing this term, have you?"

"Well..." I wasn't sure what to say. After all, he was right. Losing an argument to this dork was weirdly humiliating. "I thought you liked working with me," I pouted, pressing the nuclear button in desperation. Working

for

me would have been closer to the truth, and we both knew it. He was dominating me effortlessly in the conversation, and I didn't much like it... But I could see his eyes flitting downwards while we talked, checking out my perky tits and cute ass. I knew the outfit would get results. He shook his head and seemed to tell himself to concentrate.

"I enjoy being your lab partner, Amy, but you can't take advantage of my good nature any longer. It isn't doing either of us any good. However, I'm prepared to let you work from my notes this one last time. Work from my notes, mind you, not copy them wholesale, or I'll need to think carefully about working with you in future."

Was he threatening to

punish

me? I felt the tiniest tingle between my legs. I liked this new version of John! But there was no way I was going to let him see.

"If you stopped working with me, you great idiot, you'd be finished at this college," I said, allowing my voice to rise just enough for him to start worrying about his neighbours. "You'd never be invited to a party again, none of the other girls would even talk to you, and I bet I could persuade one of the guys to beat you up."

"That's all true, Amy, but what would you do afterwards? If you want to get into med school, you need to pass chemistry. And we both know that's not happening without my help."

"Fine! I won't copy your stupid essay." All I had left was bratty defiance. I reached out to take the report. "Are we done?"

"Not quite. I've got a condition for letting you borrow my notes. You have to participate in one last experiment for my personal research. It's a favour to me, to pay me back for all my help this term."

So that's what he was talking about.

"Is this something weird, you little pervert?"

"Not at all. It's related to some advanced metallurgical studies I've been conducting in my spare time. It won't take more than a couple of hours. Are you in?"

"God, you're such a boring little man. Fine, I'll do it, but I'd better be free in time for happy hour."

"Oh," he said, smiling enigmatically. "That depends on how you get on."

"What does that mean, you weirdo?"

"Well, you see, I've been studying the tensile strength of various materials. I'm trying to establish how easy they are to break for human subjects of various physiques. All of my test subjects so far have been at least moderately strong, but you would make a fine control subject because you are... how can I put this? Very delicate. You obviously won't be able to break the materials at all, but it's important to establish a baseline for other tests."

I was furious! Imagine calling me delicate.

"I'm stronger than you, you little dork! I go to the gym every week."

"Yes," he replied, "but just to watch Jersey Shore and drink smoothies. You don't use the actual, you know, machines."

I was outraged - that he knew what I did at the gym (had he been spying on me?), that he dared to disagree with me, and that he was... right.

"We'll see who's been using the machines, dork!" That didn't exactly make sense, but I was too angry to insult him properly. "I'll arm-wrestle you."

He laughed, making me even angrier.

"Amy, I promise you, if you were bound with even my thinnest cords, you wouldn't be able to get free in - let's say one hour."

"I certainly would! Wait - what do you mean, 'bound'?"

"Of course you'll be bound. How else would you measure tensile strength? Whatever did you think you were agreeing to? Dear me, Amy, we need to work on your scientific literacy! I suppose this means you want to withdraw, since you realise you won't stand a chance."

There was no way I was backing down to that smarmy geek.

"Of course I knew what you meant. Just get on it with it."

3. John

It didn't take much to persuade Amy to strip down to her underwear, which was pretty and lacy and pink. I suspected that she thought this would help to win me round, and I could see why: her long smooth legs and gorgeous round breasts looked amazing in the skimpy pink garments. I was reminded yet again of how much I enjoyed looking at her.

At the same time, I wasn't going to let her scantily clad beauty distract me from what I planned to do. I instructed her to cross her wrists behind her back, and was faintly surprised when she did so obediently; she even allowed me to bind them tightly together with thin cord, not complaining once even though I looped and cinched the cord multiple times in each direction and tied the most secure knot I could manage. I examined the bonds carefully. There was no way she was getting free.

I then got her to sit down on the grimy carpet and quickly and tightly bound her ankles together. "That's not uncomfortable, is it?" I asked, innocently, knowing full well that it was. But she refused to give me the satisfaction of admitting this.

I went to get more cord from a bag under my bed and slyly watched her flex her muscles and test the strength of the cord. She didn't think I was watching, which gave my voyeurism an extra pleasure. The cords were evidently stronger and tighter than she had expected; she twisted and strained and wriggled and made no progress whatsoever in escaping her bonds.

"Just a few more cords, Ames," I told her cheerfully, knowing that she hated that nickname.

"Get on with it then, dumbass. This has to be the stupidest experiment I ever heard of."

"Right, because you've heard of so many experiments."

She had no answer to that, which was rather nice. I carefully bound her elbows together with the cord (if nothing else her gym regime seemed to have made her flexible), tied her legs tightly at the knee, and wrapped more cord around her chest, above and below her lovely, pink-clad breasts. She was a neat, helpless, tightly wrapped package and it was a pleasure to watch her writhe and jiggle in futile attempts to escape.

"You've used far too much cord, idiot," she complained, her first tacit admission that she didn't fancy her chances. "It's not a fair experimmmppphhh!"

That was better. I tied off the thick knotted cleave gag at the nape of her neck, enjoying her inability to make her objections understood, and her consequent humiliated fury. I patted her on the head. "Why don't you let me worry about the scientific side of things, Ames? You just concentrate on escaping. You have one hour. My hypothesis is that you won't have broken even one of these cords, but let's give you every chance. And don't worry, I'm going to document all of our findings."

I took out my phone and started taking photos of the furious damsel in distress, who found she was entirely unable to opt out of the impromptu bondage photoshoot. I made sure to get close-ups of all her tight bonds, the lovely cleave gag parting her sweet lips, and of course her tits and ass. She blushed and mewled with embarrassment and unaccustomed vulnerability.

"I've got a tripod round here somewhere... oh yes. Here we are."

I set up the phone to video her struggles, set a timer on my watch, took one last look at the prisoner, laughed, and strolled off to grab a coffee.

4. Amy

The next hour is a nightmarish blur of sweat and annoyance and humiliation. I know I struggled: there was no

way

I was giving that geek the satisfaction of finding me still securely trussed up when he get back. Lord, I struggled. But I don't remember all the ways I tried to escape, because none of them worked. Like, at all.

The cords didn't break, I know that much, they just creaked and held firm and seemed to get tighter, if anything. And I certainly couldn't wriggle my way anywhere useful - the phone, if you're thinking of that, was out of reach on a little tripod on a very high shelf, capturing all of my futile escape attempts. I hated being recorded in such a humbling situation. And I suppose I tried to wiggle, caterpillar-like, across the floor, in search of some scissors or a knife. Not that the dork would have known how to cook. But it was all in vain, and when he got back... I was still utterly helpless and effectively silenced. The pitying, self-satisfied grin he gave me was absolutely insufferable.

"I thought you were going to escape easily, Ames?"

"Ymm gddmmm fmmggmmpph mmppphhmm!!"

Gagged insults, I now know, are rarely worth the effort. John had no idea what I had tried to call him, and to make matters worse he found my impotent gagged mewling very, very funny.

"Sorry, babe, didn't catch that. Based on your contributions in class this term it probably wasn't a huge loss, though."

It was

incredibly

humiliating having to just lie there and listen to his smartass quips. No comebacks, no insults, just beaten silence with the occasional embarrassing mmmph that only made him laugh. I felt like some poor medieval maiden, kept firmly in her place and told never to speak unless given permission by a man.

"Okay," he said. "It's time for the next phase. If you couldn't manage to escape from a few thin pieces of cord I don't much fancy your chances with this, but we'd better stick to the scientific method."

What did he mean?! My eyes widened in alarm as he started fishing broad leather belts and straps out of the bag under his bed.

"Dmpph ymm fmmggmmpph dmmpphh!!"

He smiled at me patronisingly, then set to work. First he reinforced all of my existing bonds, adding belts over the cord around my wrists, elbows, knees and chest, pulling and straining until he cinched in the straps to the very last hole. It was torment, and I mewled and mumbled my complaints as best I could.

"You're still making a little noise, I see," he said thoughtfully. "We shall have to address that shortly."

Before I could find out what he meant by

that

, however, there were more belts to distribute around my already tightly strapped body. He cinched belts around my pale soft legs at mid-calf and high up on my thigh, his fingers brushing perilously close to my pink panties and eliciting a confused response, half mewled complaint and half frustrated moan. He ignored this and added another tightly cinched belt around my waist - almost the correct use of a belt, except it went over my bound arms - and a little belt around my forearms. I was utterly helpless and in quite a lot of pain.

But next came a surprise. John reached up and, almost tenderly, untied the knot behind my neck and lifted the sodden cloth gag out of my mouth. I immediately started to complain, but he put a finger to my lips and for some reason I felt compelled to obediently hold my tongue. Was I growing used to submission? Did I even like it?

5. John

"Hush," I said to an inexplicably meek and compliant Amy. "Let me explain what is happening."

As she gazed at me with adorable nervousness and confusion, I revealed the truth. The real experiment was nothing to do with the strength of materials, as if that was something of the slightest scientific interest: if she'd paid attention in class she might have seen through that ruse, although her general dimwitted gullibility might still have helped me out. In fact, I was testing the effects of punishment on bitchy women.

"Your behaviour to me today was a clear 10 on the Bitch Scale," I said, smiling. "So why don't we see what you score after an hour bound with cord?"

6. Amy

"The Bitch Scale?" I was almost screaming, having found my voice at last. "You goddamn worm, who the hell do you think you're talking to? Take these fucking straps off me and shove your Bitch Scale up your ass!"

I stopped, realising that he wasn't really paying attention; instead, he was calmly making notes on a clipboard.

"Long story short, Amy," he said almost sadly, "that's another 10. We're not making progress just yet. But the night is young. Let's try an hour with the belts."

"What the fuummmmppphh!"

Barely even looking in my direction, he had casually reached out and silenced me with a hand over my mouth. I was outraged at being prevented from having my say yet again, while being oddly conscious of the strength of his grip and the ease with which he kept me under control. Had he been working out? Was that how he knew my gym routine?

Keeping one hand over my mouth, John reached down with the other and pulled a pair of scissors from his bag. Carefully, oh so gently, he snipped through my pink panties and pulled them free from my pussy as I squealed in embarrassment. He repeated the action with my lacy pink bra, uncovering my perky breasts and oddly stiff nipples. How dare he expose me like this! I yelled in outrage, or tried to... but suddenly the hand was gone and the balled-up underwear was being stuffed into my mouth, filing the cavity completely and almost making me choke. My tongue was forced down and I couldn't make a sound. Then he jammed the damp cloth gag back between my teeth, pulled it back hard and knotted it tightly at the nape of my neck. I was throughly gagged once again, and even more effectively silenced than before.