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scared, naked teenage girl vs. The Machine

       Today I was invited by Dean Jorgon to accompany him and Anthony Noyes to visit Miss Smithers.  I met Noyes only recently in connection with this committee and already I don’t like him.  He is overbearing and loud.  Also, he doesn’t like it when people disagree with him.


        What makes this a problem now is the fact that he makes no secret of his belief -- it is hard for me to believe that he really thinks this -- that Miss Smithers is faking her religion!  According to him the streaking incident was just a prank and she invented the religion excuse so that she would not get expelled.  In other words, he argues that she doesn’t really want to be naked.  This is just ridiculous.  Her constant nudity for the past five months, braving the snow and the rain, and her willingness to expose herself in various situations like the art classes, all these seem to be me to be pretty convincing evidence of Miss Smithers’s sincerity.  But Noyes still suspects this brave girl of lying.  Not only would Miss Smithers be insulted by his attitude, I almost feel a little insulted myself.


        In our brief discussions about this the Dean has not commented on Noyes’s attitude.  The Dean apparently wants to remain impartial.  I respect this, but still find it hard to see how such a cynical man would be of any use to the committee.


        To get back to what I was writing about -- today’s meeting with Miss Smithers was to be at Chalfont, where Miss Smithers had agreed to be the subject for experiments having to do with various physiological processes.  At least that’s how it was explained to me.  I’ve known Dr. Harridance, the Director of Research there, for a long time.  We used to serve together on endowment committees.  We’ve often commiserated on how the college’s fundamentalist background has lent it the reputation of being a bit of an academic backwater, and how things could be shaken up.


        Just how much shaking up he was willing to do became apparent to me with a shock today.  We were told that at Chalfont Miss Smithers would be in Lab 6.  When we finally found it (after getting lost and then found again in that labyrinthine old building) we opened the door to find a small waiting room (empty) leading to another door.  We opened that second door and --


        The first sensation was of heat, as in body heat, and then the strong smell of, well, vaginal secretions such as a woman gives off when sexually aroused.  We found ourselves in a brightly lit circular room about fifteen feet across.  In the center was a circular console surrounded by three or four students in lab coats sitting with their clipboards, looking at various dials and gauges.  And in the center, on a little stage elevated for maximum visibility, facing away from us, we could see the sweating, heaving back of a naked young woman in a kind of seatless chair.  Her legs were extended to each side.  Her head was slightly bowed forward.  Her hair, wet from sweat, was plastered to her back.


        I think the Dean and Noyes were almost as discomfited as I was by this sight.  I felt like I had walked onto the set of some kind of perverted pornographic science fiction movie.  Led by the Dean, we slowly and quietly made our way around the perimeter, barely being acknowledged by the assistants, until we were facing the front of the young woman.  Indeed it was Miss Smithers.  Her arms were extended out to each side and -- this was very upsetting -- handcuffed to a short post.  Her bare feet, spread wide to each side, were cuffed to the sides of the stage.  Her thighs were also strapped down.


        The chair had a short back which she was leaning back on, but its oddest feature was the fact that the center of the bottom had been cut away.  A piece of black plastic covered her vaginal area, and -- also very upsetting -- what I can only call a small metal dildo, about the size of a fountain pen with a little bulb on it, was hanging from her anus, connected by a wire to a spot beneath the console.  A wire went from the vaginal patch as well.  Little wires were taped to the skin at her forehead, her forearms, and just below her nipples.


        There was a low humming sound coming from somewhere.  Miss Smithers’s eyes were downcast and I then noticed that her whole body was shaking slightly.  She was sweating all over and her breathing was shallow and ragged.


        A door opened behind us and it was Dr. Harridance, in his usual good mood.  “Welcome gentlemen,” he said, “welcome to our project on galvanic sexual response.”  At the sound of the doctor’s voice Miss Smithers looked up and her eyes, which I suddenly noticed were wet with tears, widened into what looked like an expression of sheer terror and horror.


        I just couldn’t keep quiet any longer.  “Is she O.K.?” I said.


        “Yes, that’s what she looks like when she’s sexually aroused,” the doctor said.


        The Dean looked into Miss Smithers’s horrified eyes and said, “Miss Smithers, I need to have a short word with you.”


        A strange look came from her eyes as her brows knitted and her mouth opened.  She looked like she was trying to say something but could not manage it.  “Ahhhhh . . . ohhhhh . . .”  The plaintive moan was both womanly and girlish (after all she is only 18).


        “I’m afraid she’s in no condition to speak right now,” Harridance said.  “Let’s go inside.  Brendo, keep her at the plateau phase,” he said to one of his assistants, as he led us into a small side room with a coffee machine.


        As the three of us sat in the little room, sipping black coffee, all of us shaken by what we had just seen and with me especially wondering about the young lady’s ongoing ordeal, Harridance explained.


        “This is a project we’ve been wanting to run for a long time now, involving galvanic skin response during sexual excitation.  It’s an unexplored field because other researchers have had to confine their data collection due to concerns about ethics.  The subject’s modesty must be scrupulously guarded.  But with Miss Smithers, that’s not a concern.  The anal contraction monitor, for example.  In previous projects they’ve had to have it covered by a sheet or only partly visible as the subject pleasured herself or was pleasured by a partner.  But with the subject’s modesty not a concern, we can have it brightly lit and visible on a stage, allowing much more accurate readings.”


        “You mean that -- that thing in her -- her anus?  What the devil is that for?” I asked indignantly.  I wasn’t really angry at my friend Harridance; it was just a knee-jerk reaction to what I had seen.


        “The anal sphincter contracts during high arousal and during orgasm,” he said.  “The anal monitor detects the strength, location and frequency of the contractions, which are the only reliable measure as to the onset and duration of orgasm.”


        I looked at the floor, still a little upset.  “I know she’s being, uh, sexually stimulated, but she doesn’t exactly look like she’s having fun in there.”


        When there was no response I looked up and saw Harridance looking at me kindly.  “I don’t mean to get personal, but didn’t you ever look at Ethel’s face when she was having an orgasm?”


        My wife, five years dead.  I thought about it.  He was right, it was a very personal question, but I could see what he was getting at.  I remember, long ago when we were both young, the first time I looked at her face when I knew she was in the throes of ecstasy, only to be shocked because she looked like she was contorted in pain.  I gave a quick look up at Harridance and shrugged.  “Yes, well . . .”


        Dean Jorgon spoke up. “Henry [Ross] went to see Miss Smithers at the dining hall a couple of months ago to discuss her participation in research, and when he got there a friend of hers was, uh, pleasuring her under the table.”


        “Hmmphh!” Noyes said.  “If that’s not disruptive, I don’t know what is!!”


        “Well, not at the time,” the Dean quickly interjected, “and he warned her that such behavior was not acceptable.”


        I almost rolled my eyes.  First I see Miss Smithers in a semi-public sexual act in the Student Union, now this dining hall episode.  It’s a good thing none of our Baptists friends are hearing about this!


        “Anyway, Henry told me that during her, uh, sexual excitations Miss Smithers did indeed look like she was in fear, or terror, or in pain. . . In fact, she experienced an orgasm right in front of him, and afterwards she cried.  An intense reaction to an intense sensation, I suppose.  Her friend told Henry that this is how she always is right after orgasm.  At any rate, it is obvious that her religion extends to a lack of self-consciousness about sexuality.  Therefore, what you see in that lab room, though it might look like torture if it was an average girl, as for Miss Smithers she is taking it entirely in stride.”


        “Exactly,” Dr. Harridance said.  “And because it is O.K. with her, we can proceed without restrictions to get the most accurate measurements possible.”


        I had another concern.  “Why is she . . . tied down?”


        “It’s mostly because of the anal probe.  The sphincter is a very delicate area.  During sexual excitation her body is apt to jerk violently.  That’s why the body must be immobilized.”


        “The body” . . .  His descriptions sounded so impersonal.  Yet to be brought to orgasm in front of observers seemed to be the ultimate in personal exposure, far more than merely being naked in public.  Still, here she was, Miss Tami Smithers, just another episode in her life . . .


        The four of us sipped coffee wordlessly for a moment.  I was still a little worried about the girl’s comfort.  Motioning to the door I said, “How long has she been . . . like that?”


        “About . . .” Harridance looked at his watch.  “Forty minutes.  Her schedule is to come in for three hours every Thursday.  This is her second week.  In a bit we’ll bring her up to orgasm and then let her rest.  We intend to escalate the stimulation gradually in future sessions to see how her skin temperature responds.  There are other things we want to look at also, after that. . . After the stimulation period ends she showers in the washroom next door and then rests for the remainder of the time on the stage, with the assistants monitoring her skin response as she gets back down to normal.  She can even go to sleep if she wants.”


        “I wouldn’t be surprised, after such a workout,” I said.


        “Yes . . . but remember that this ‘workout’, as you put it, is entirely within the scope of the agreement she signed,” Harridance said.  The Dean nodded.  This agreement had been mentioned to me before; I had been told it was perfectly valid and had the signature of her friend Jeffrey Dillon as a witness.  I’d like to see that agreement sometime, though I realize it’s not really relevant to the task of the committee.

        “It isn’t very difficult to get her stimulated,” Harridance continued.  “She is very active and responsive sexually. She has told us that she is stimulated to orgasm every day by her roommate.”


        I rested my head in my hand.  Lesbianism in the dorms.  Another Baptist horror story come to life.  I was beginning to see how this girl’s habits could indeed be called disruptive, though they seemed unrelated to her religion of total nudity.  Or were they?


        Harridance sighed, looking at the door to the lab.  “Even now I can see that the data we are collecting will be very helpful to the state of knowledge.  This could be big, really big.  If we’re lucky we’ll make a big splash and end up with more grant money than we can handle.  And it’s all due to her. . .”  He took another thoughtful sip of coffee. “We’re paying her thirty dollars an hour, but it doesn’t seem like enough for what she’s doing for us.  She deserves more, somehow.”


        The Dean said, “Maybe you’ll be able to figure out something.  But don’t get ahead of yourself.  This is only the second session.”


        Harridance was deep in thought.  Then he shook himself into alertness.  “Well, time to get her finished off.  Let’s go.”


        We followed Harridance back into the bright circular lab.  I didn’t want to look but I couldn’t help myself.  The slight, slender body of the nude 18-year-old-girl was shaking even more than before.  She was gasping, her flat midriff heaving in and out, her toes curling and uncurling below the ankle cuffs.  I can’t deny the fact that I am a human male, and even at my age I found myself feeling some sexual arousal at this powerful sight.  I immediately tried to suppress it.


        Dr. Harridance stood in front of the naked, laboring girl, his face maybe only about five feet from hers.  “Miss Smithers?” he said loudly.


        The naked girl opened her eyes and wearily looked up.  I saw her eyes flicking to the four of us and her face twisted again into a rictus of anguish and fear, or at least that’s what it looked like.


        Continuing in his loud voice, Dr. Harridance said, “We will bring you to orgasm now, and then you can rest.  Again, on behalf of myself and the Institute, we thank you very much for your help.”


        Her eyes narrowed as if she was about to cry.

        Harridance motioned to his assistants and I heard the humming sound get a little louder.  The naked girl took in a deep breath and began to moan.  It sounded like a moan of arousal, but also sounded like someone softly weeping.  “Ohhh . . . ohhh . . . ohhh . . .”


        After a few seconds her whole body tensed up suddenly.  She bared her clenched teeth and forced a scream through.  Her pelvis thrust forward -- or at least made the attempt.  Her whole body lurched violently.  I looked down at the “anal monitor” planted in the girl’s delicate lowermost orifice and realized the wisdom of keeping her movements restricted.


        Her eyes widened with urgency as she looked up toward the ceiling.  I thought I detected a hint of that upward anguished look -- “My Lord, Why hast thou forsaken me?” -- that she exhibited while modeling in that freezing art class, though this time, her bugged-out eyes made it seem like such a prayer was being shouted -- “MY LORD!!!  WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME??!!!”  Of course,  she was probably not thinking any rational thoughts, being in the grip of an intense orgasm.


        The contractions began with mighty but restrained lurches of her entire body.  The assistants tensely and quickly checked the dials and meters, looked up at the spasming girl, and wrote numbers on their clipboards.  Her body jerked tightly up and out at rhythmic intervals, to the extent allowed by her bonds.  I looked down and saw the anal monitor wiggle violently forward and back, evidently from the rectal contractions.  I took a quick sideways glance at my companions.  Harridance was alertly looking at the girl and then at the dials and and back again.  The Dean and Noyes were simply staring at the nude girl, partly amazed, partly recoiling at the sight.


        Maybe it was just me but this seemed like a long, long orgasm.  Halfway through it, Miss Smithers closed her eyes, her teeth still clenched.  At length the contractions became sporadic and, with one final jerk of her pelvis, ended.  I think we all exhaled at that point.  Miss Smithers herself caught her breath with deep gasps, her tummy moving in and out, as her entire body drooped from the cuffs.  Drops of sweat formed on her forehead, over her breasts, on her thighs.  Her head lolled weakly on her shoulders.  I heard one of the assistants whisper to another, “Thirteen contractions that time.”


        Then, to my amazement and horror, Miss Smithers began to sob.  Tears flowed from her eyes and she babbled like a little girl who had fallen and split her lip.  It was very hard to look at, but then I realized I shouldn’t have been surprised; as I now knew, it was the normal reaction she sometimes had to having an orgasm.


        The assistants got up and, leaning over the console, began the work of detaching the wires.  The patch over her genitals was affixed by some kind of adhesive which was apparently a bit uncomfortable to pry off.  As the assistant removed the patch and put it aside, I could see that it had a small knob and a bristly pad that faced inward, no doubt to provide a steady friction and pressure onto the clitoris.  Then one of the assistants reached down and very carefully removed the anal monitor.  The nude girl winced in pain as I saw that the monitor actually had two bulbs, each about an inch in diameter.  Harridance seemed to anticipate our thoughts as he said, “The anal probe has plugs on it that go on both sides of the sphincter so that it can’t be accidentally dislodged during orgasm.”  I squirmed, reflecting on how unpleasant the sensation must have been for Miss Smithers.  Or was it?


        The cuffs were undone, first the wrist cuffs, then the thigh straps, finally the ankle cuffs.  Miss Smithers, drenched with sweat, still sobbing softly, seemed grateful to bring her legs together as slipped off the sweat-slicked chair and sat on the base of the stage.  She brought her knees up to her forehead, cradling her toes in her hands.  Her head was bowed down.  Around her, the assistants went back to their stations, adjusting dials and checking and re-checking their figures.


        “You can say what you came for now, before she goes in to shower,” Harridance said to the Dean.


        It was time for the Dean to give the little speech he had told us he was going to give.  “Miss Smithers . . . can you hear me?”


        For a few seconds the naked girl did nothing.  Then she nodded slowly.


        “I’ll make this quick.  I’ve come to talk to you about your involvement with the gymnastics team.  I’m sure you noticed the, uh, disruptive behavior at the last meet at the end of last semester.  This can only be detrimental to the college, as well as not being respectful to you or to the team as a whole.  Therefore, we have decided to once again waive the athletic component of your scholarship.”


        Miss Smithers didn’t seem to react to this news, except to wipe tears from her eyes, clasp her hands around her shins, and fix a dull, red-eyed stare down at her toes, which she flexed and unflexed once or twice, and then she clasped them with her hands, as if trying to compact herself into a ball.


        “On the other hand, we have always hesitated at giving our scholarship students a free ride.  Not that we are accusing you ahead of time of being lazy, not by any means . . . But we have decided to in lieu of the athletic component, assign you to a part-time task on campus.”


        Again, she did nothing except stare down without emotion.


        “In the past students in your position had been assigned to tasks in the library, or in various administration offices doing filing work, things of that nature.  Unfortunately, all those jobs are filled up at the moment.  Actually, for you it is maybe not so unfortunate, because, let’s be frank, those jobs have the reputation of being very dull.  I think you’ll like the assignment we have found for you.


        “We have decided to assign you to the campus grounds crew.  I have been told the work is not that arduous, and you will get some fresh air away from the books.  Your, uh, lifestyle will be taken into account as far as outside work during the cold weather. . . The job will be ten hours a week, which is roughly the amount of time previously taken up by the gymnastics team.  Coach Snyder, by the way, supports this move, though reluctantly.  She says you really ‘gave your all’ for the team and will be happy to provide a reference if you need one in the future.”


        We were all waiting for Miss Smithers to respond to this development.  At first it seemed like it would be odd news, but after the Dean explained the situation this morning and I thought about it for a while, it seemed like a humane and reasonable solution, given the problems at the gymnastics meets which the Dean had told me about.


        The Dean, apparently having given up getting a reaction from Miss Smithers, sighed.  “You will report to Mr. Winant at the physical plant.  I’ll send you an intercampus note with all the information.”


        The Dean then gave Miss Smithers an odd look, somehow sterner than before.  In a clear voice, he said, “Dr. Harridance tells me that what you are helping with today is only the first . . . in a series of increasingly intense experiments . . . which will continue all semester.”  God, if he wanted to sound ominous for some reason, with his stern diction and long pauses he certainly succeeded!  I remembered that this was essentially what Harridance had told us over coffee, but then I thought, What could be more “intense” than what she had just been through!


        The Dean waited a moment and then addressed the naked young woman again as she continued to rest her head on her hands, staring downward.  “Miss Smithers . . . is there something you’d like to say?”


        She took a slow deep breath and then just as slowly exhaled.  She looked up slightly, without focus, into the middle distance.  We could see the dried tracks of her tears on her cheeks.  I thought I detected a strange glint of determination.  Then she slowly and deliberately shook her head.


        The three of us left soon after that, each of us a little weak and shaky at what we had seen.  It had been an intense experience for us too.  As we walked out of the Institute and gratefully took in some of the cold winter air, I asked the Dean what it was he was waiting for Miss Smithers to say.  He didn’t answer me directly, but shook his head and said, “She is a pretty tough girl.”


        Remembering what I had seen, realizing what Miss Smithers was willing to do for the cause of science, I could only agree.  I looked over at Noyes and said, “So you still think she’s only faking!”  The man just grunted and said, “We’ll see.”  I shook my head in disbelief.  Some people are just impossible!

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