A Girl Called Mallory

Mallory gave her name to the uniformed woman at the reception desk. The sleek, white-and-chrome antiseptic modernism of the bunker's interior contrasted sharply with its craggy brutalist crust. Outside felt like a last outpost of a war; inside was the future.

In a small voice, she told the official that she'd come for the experiment. The official studied her for a moment, showing a ghost of a smirk, and then worked her keyboard. Choice or mandate? she asked without looking up.

Mallory's attendance had been mandated. Even as it crumbled, the authority had the power to deny basic necessities to the non-compliant. Just a moment, then, the official told her, and read something on her screen. She hit a key and sat back. Remove your clothes, she said.

Mallory was stunned. What, is there a consulting room? she said. No, said the official. Here. Where you're standing. I'll take your things. She came out from behind her desk with a large pouch. Some of the people passing through the lobby turned to look, sensing that something was happening.

The official's look was implacable, her extended arm unmoving. At last Mallory understood she had no choice and started to unbutton her top. A number of the passers-by stopped to watch. She removed her top and put it in the pouch. Her shoes followed, then her skirt. She stopped at her underwear.

Everything, the official said. You can't-- Mallory stopped when she saw it was useless. Her head dropped as she reached back and unhooked her bra. She dropped it into the pouch, and then slipped her panties off and stepped out of them. They joined the rest of her clothes. The lobby air was chilly.

Pretty girl, the official said in a voice entirely without appreciation. We don't often see girls with hair between their legs these days. Mallory self-consciously put a hand over that hair and one arm across her breasts. Here's your escort, the official said, as a uniformed man approached.

Your things will be returned to you after the procedure, the official said. Now the escort will take you to the professor. The uniformed escort looked Mallory over, assessing her nude body, before telling her to walk with him. They crossed the lobby, moving through the onlookers.

The escort used his pass to take them through an automatic door, the other side of which was deserted. He directed Mallory to walk ahead of him. So you've been sent for the sex test thing, she heard him say. I'm not sure what it is, she said.

Crazy to be doing anything scientific in these times, the way things are going, the escort said. Feels like everything will be gone soon, and we'll be living in caves again. But administrators keep filling forms and scientists playing in their labs. Keeps their minds off things, I suppose.

Mallory made a sound of agreement, but she wasn't really listening. She was more conscious of his eyes on her naked rear as she walked. Eventually they came to a door where he stopped her. This is it, he said. He pressed a button on the door and after a moment, a light came on. He opened it for her.

Enjoy it, he said. By the way-- nice ass. He grinned and withdrew, leaving her in what was some form of laboratory. At its centre was a table with restraints at its corners and sides. To the side was an instrument panel spewing wires. A minute passed before someone entered from an adjoining room.

His lab coat told Mallory that he was the professor, but he didn't introduce himself. Without a word, he came up to her and started to touch her. His hands were warm. He squeezed her breasts and thumbed her nipples, then ran his hands down her belly. His breath on her face, he reached for her ass.

He squeezed her cheeks, opening her, and placed a finger on her anus. Then he returned to her front, squatted before her and explored her cunt. He spread her lips and stroked her clit with the tip of a finger. Mallory fidgeted, but tried not to betray her discomfort. The professor stood back up.

Do you have a regular sexual partner? he asked in a flat tone. No. Casual ones? No. When were you last penetrated? It had been months. And how often do you masturbate? Mallory decided to be honest. A few times a week. Very well, the professor said. Sit on the table and open your legs.

Mallory's blood chilled at what she knew he would instruct her to do. When he did, she spat on her fingers, closed her eyes and placed the ball of spit on her clit. Trying to absent herself from her situation, she started to rub. She thought of men she'd been with, men she'd seen, men she'd wanted.

It took her a very long time to come, after a number of false sensations. She'd been angry with her obstinate cunt at times. But when she did at last, releasing a small amount of liquid on the table, and shuddering, she opened her eyes to see the professor snap off a stopwatch.

A very sluggish response, he said. The longest time to climax I think I've measured. Mallory felt judged. Reading her expression, he reassured her. No, no, you're ideal. You will be a much easier subject for me to measure the efficacy of the sexual response procedure on. The contrast will be marked.

Without another word, the professor put his hands on Mallory and laid her out on the table. He buckled up her wrists and ankles. He took a fistful of equipment, lubricated the ends, and proceeded to insert them in and attach them to Mallory's most intimate body parts.

From the plugs inserted into Mallory's vagina and anus, and from the clips fastened to her tongue, nipples and clitoris, a tangle of wires led to a panel dense with dials and switches. Now, the professor said, we'll see what we can learn about female sexual response.

As her pleasure zones started to pulse, Mallory's nude body bucked on the table. Her nipples hardened. Her cunt flushed, swelled and leaked. She twisted, moaning. It was as if a dozen men were on her, ravishing her.

She desperately wanted to touch herself, but her hands were held fast by the cuffs. Her head thrashed side to side. She squirted on the table.

Mallory's tits bounced and shone with sweat. Her legs rattled in their ankle straps. Fuck me, fuck me, for the love of god fuck me! she pleaded.

Her cunt was so drenched now that its plug was pushed out in a little pool of squirt as she spasmed.

The professor removed his lab coat. He hadn't been wearing anything else. He unfastened Mallory's ankle cuffs and pushed her knees back onto her tits.

He lifted himself onto the table and pushed his erect cock inside Mallory. Her cunt was like a lake. She surprised him by folding her legs around his back, though her arms were still bound, and grinding into him. Her cunt clamped around his cock, and with a howl, she drew the cum out of him.

Utterly drained and astonished, the professor undid her restraints with trembling hands. Mallory climbed off the table and looked down at him, crumpled on the laboratory floor. His cum leaking out of her, she masturbated furiously. She came again.

Mallory plucked the clips off herself and pulled the plug out of her ass. She remained desperately horny. The experiment seemed to have left her with the feeling that her cunt was crawling, or glowing. She needed more cock.

The only clothes, or something like clothes, she could find in the lab were (for some reason) a black latex bra, black latex shorts and a pair of black boots. She pulled them on, looked back at the defeated professor, and walked out of the lab into the mysterious world outside.