Test Subject - Mech/F

Rohana · Jan 26, 2008

Test Subject
By Rohana

Neerja looked down the length of her naked, tawny body, past the straps that pinned her fast to the gurney, past her feet whose toes had been corded taut to a T-bar. Beneath her, the wheels of her cart rumbled slowly along their track, bearing her ever closer to the rings of feathers that waited to caress and torment her fearfully exposed and hypersensitive flesh. She certainly could not have anticipated her day turning out this way.
The day had begun the usual way with her mother having to shake and shout her loggy daughter awake. “My Neerja, you are a beautiful Indian girl yet you have done nothing with your life. You still have no man. You still have no job. And it is already 9 o’clock.”
“I promise I’ll be married and working by noon, Mother,” she said, trying to maintain her grip on her pillow, her covers, and her dreams. But her mother was wise to her tricks and hauled her lazy daughter out of bed.
“I have arranged a new job for you, a contracting arrangement. Today is your first day.”
“Oh, mother,” Neerja carped, slipping the long purple dress over her willowy form. “I don’t want another call-center job.”
“This job is special. Dr. Veeravalli, the female social/biologist, needs a test subject for a small experiment. She’s right around the corner, so you go and answer her questions or run about her maze or whatever.”
Neerja frowned but conceded the inevitable. After a simple breakfast, she gave her mother a peck on the cheek, slipped on her flat sandals and traipsed out the backdoor. Dr. Veeravalli’s lab was only a half-block away, even shorter if one took the alley. Still, Neerja dawdled with her typical loitering fashion. Work interested her not.
The Indian woman who answered her knock had clearly been stunning in her day. Her lab coat fell over a full yet shapely form. A set of round wireframes perched on her noble nose, and her jet hair was threaded with silver. Sensuous lips smiled as she held the new arrival at arm’s length and looked her up and down. “You must be Neerja. Such a beautiful girl! I am Dr. Veeravalli. Come in. Come in.”
The doctor’s grip on her shoulder was firm, and Neerja found herself being pulled along a long hall like a tethered dear. Her heart beat in unexplainable nervousness. Dr. Veeravalli was just so beautiful and commanding.
“In here,” the doctor told her. “Leave your clothes and sandals here and don that robe. Then come to the room at the end of the hall.”
Inside and alone, the brown winsome girl removed her dress and shoes with some trepidation. The cotton robe was rough on her tender flesh, the tile floor cold on her bare feet. She tried not the think of appearing barely clothed before the glamorous doctor. For some reason, the thought excited her.
The indicated room was sparsely furnished. The good doctor sat at her desk, filling out paperwork. Against the far wall was a medical gurney, its sides festooned with thick leather straps which hung like the dried arms of a long-dead giant squid. Certainly those straps were not for her, Neerja thought, one bare foot covering another nervously. Many hospitals and labs relied on used medical gear. Perhaps it had come from an asylum or something.
“Ah, very good,” the doctor said, noting her reluctant presence. Directing her to sit on the cart, she gave the younger girl a full medical checkup. Neerja’s feet dangled amid the straps. For some reason, it felt erotic, eliciting a blush.
“You are a very healthy girl with a strong heart. Good endurance. That is critical for what I am about to put you through. Now, my little miss, please strip away your robe and lay on the cart.
Neerja was shocked but already the doctor was helping to remove her robe, the mature woman’s hands so warm and motherly. Closing her eyes, Neerja allowed herself to be disrobed. The cool air caused her nipples to stand out. Obediently, she lay back on the gurney’s surface.
“Now, I must secure you in place, lest you fall from the cart. Raise your arms.”
Neerja shuddered as the older woman began looping the various belts over her. One over her tummy. Another just beneath her pert breasts. Another over her hips, brushing against her silky pubic hair, eliciting a gasp. Neerja sought to show how being belted securely down by an elegant woman did not concern her, and asked (with cracking voice) what the test entailed.
 “You’ve been commissioned for a study of biological distress/attraction cues in counter-gender relations. You and another subject, who I have already prepped and secured, will be providing raw data for this test. In essense, you will be distressed, he will observe, while I measure his reactions. Now, please extend your arms over your head.” There was a clatter as an extender-bar was pulled out from the head of the gurney. A moment later, Neerja’s arms were being buckled fast to the horizontal pole with belts securing her wrists, her elbows, and her forearms. She took a deep breath, feeling the rise of her ribcage against the thick straps. Meanwhile, the good doctor was belting down her legs, loop following loop. When she was done, Neerja was little more than a long tube of dusky flesh, naked, exposed and helpless.
The doctor then fetched a T-shaped bar. Its leg was slipped into a hole between the girl’s ankles. The cross brace lay just across the tops of her cute milling toes. Smiling firmly, Dr. Veeravalli produced a thin cord from her pocket. Neerja watched, mesmerized, as the older woman trussed her big toes to the bar, arching her feet slightly back. Once or twice, the doctor’s long nails brushed against the girl’s exposed feet, raising a tinkling giggle. The older woman just smiled at this.
From a nearby cabinet, Veeravalli fetched a bottle of liquid, a measure of which she poured into a glass. “Here, little Neerja. Drink deeply of this.” The trussed girl obeyed, finding the draught as sweet as honey. When she asked what it was, she was told, “It will make your skin more sensitive for our test.” Following that, the woman took hold of the foot of the cart and rolled Neerja from the room. The girl blushed, hoping that nobody would see her, strapped and naked, being rolled down the hall. She looked down the length of her trussed body to where the doctor pushed her along. The older woman’s beautiful hands were so close to her naked, pinioned feet. What would happen should she reach up and brush a lacquered nail along Neerja’s soles? Neerja almost wished she would.
It must have been the drink that caused such a thought. Even now, Neerja was noticing that the belts were chafing her skin in the most provocative manner. The very air seemed to molest her shapely form as she was propelled along.
A final door and they were in a small room, one wall draped with a curtain. Carefully, Dr. Veeravalli maneuvered her cart about, clicking its wheels into some floor tracking. Motherly fingers slipped a set of protective goggles over the girl’s eyes, tenderly tucking her hair back out of the way. A warm palm stroked her cheek with loving tenderness.
“Now, Little Neerja, I must leave you. You will enjoy what comes next.” The doctor’s face grew warm, even flushed. “To be truthful, sometimes late at night when nobody is about, I ride this device myself. It is ever so much fun.”
And then she was gone. Neerja lay on her cart in the silence, buckled and abandoned. To one side were the drapes. Looking down, she realized that there was an opening in the wall past her feet. Darkness lay beyond.
In her nervousness, she tried to shift her feet but Dr. Veeravalli’s cords were too snug. She couldn’t move an inch. Far over her head, she flexed her fingers, making little fists. What would come next?
A moment later, the drapes to her side whirled back. Neerja could see a control room made of glass walls, with Dr. Veeravalli inside. And she was not alone.
Neerja’s eyes grew wide, her cheeks blushing in surprised embarrassment.
A man was with the doctor, a young man, naked, and (to Neerja’s confusion) bound. White ropes crisscrossed his torso with professional exactness, and Neerja know that it had been Dr. Veeravalli’s capable hands that had placed them. Besides the yards and yards of white rope that held him fast, a thick cloth gag swathed his lower face. Neerja wondered how the trussed fellow could stand, bound so completely, and then realized that he’d been belted to a hand-cart affair that kept him upright.
The trussed pair exchanged surprised looks through the glass as Dr. Veeravalli went about her business.
Her business, it appeared, seemed centered on the placement of cup-like monitors across the torso of the man’s pinioned body. Neerja found herself mesmerized, watching as each was stuck into place. A set on his nipples. An array of them along his flanks. Some on his legs. And several, she witnessed with a hot blush, on his privates. Once this was done, the doctor looked to her monitors, calibrating the equipment. The man lulled his head and pulled on his ropes. Veeravalli ignored him. Neerja watched with maidenly intent, her heart quickening. Finally the doctor straightened and keyed the mike.
“Here we go, my sweet. Now we will see how visual observation of your distress effects this male subject.”
A moment later, the cart began to roll along its track, bearing Neerja along. She struggled petulantly, twisting against the doctor’s firm straps, her dark eyes wide as she and her cart slowly entered the dark tunnel. She glanced to her side, trying to call to Dr. Veeravalli that she’d changed her mind, that she didn’t want to be part of this thing. But the older woman had shut off the mike and was now pushing her captive subject’s handcart in the same direction as Neerja.
The darkness was total, filled with the slow rattle of her wheels. Dim lighting, signaling a 90 degree turn. The cart pivoted and continued. A room opened around her. She blinked.
The control room was still to her right – she’d pivoted around its corner. There was the doctor, there was her bound, strapped and wide-eyed subject. She followed his fearful glance to what lay before her, then gave a squeak of surprise.
Loops had been placed over the track of her cart, loops festooned with long white feathers. All of them pointed inward, their tips positioned right where she would be borne. The first loop had three feathers, one above, one to either side, seemingly an introduction to her fate. She turned and cried out to her captor, telling her to stop this thing. Miss Veeravalli just smiled, a blush of excitement darkening her sub-continent cheeks.
Her feet pushed through the trio of feathers and she cried out at the sharpness of the sensation. They dragged across her pinioned soles, drawn slowly across her quivering flesh by the slow progress of the cart. Neerja shook her head and snorted, demanding that the experiment stop. Then she realized the true horror of the situation; her feet had been bad enough, but as she moved forward, each feather trailed slowly down her body, a maddening sensation over her knees, across her hips and along her belly and flanks.
“Oh, stop! Stop! I do not like this! It is discomforting! Doctor Veeravalli, help me!”
But the doctor only stood with crossed arms, watching her slow passage with flashing eyes. At her side, the bound man trembled, his face reddening, his eyes wide.
She shuddered as a feathertip ran between her breasts, flickering over a strap. Her eyes grew large and she shouted, “Oh no! No!”
Her exposed feet were drawing nearer to a second ring, this one with a half-dozen feathers. Even as the first feather hissed over her safety goggles, the new set drew ever closer. She watched with horror over her tied toes, throwing herself back and forth in her bands. Her fate, like death and taxes, was certain.
The tips drew across her exposed feet, sending shivering jolts of playful torment up her long limbs. Laughter bubbled up, forced and involuntary. Her fists were trembling balls of muscle. She squealed in dismay as the feathers slowly devoured her, moving up her long dark limbs playing across her sex, along her belly and flanks, driving her to distraction. And even as they swept clear, eliciting a shriek as they played across her defenseless armpits before pulling with languid torment down her straining arms, she looked forward with mounting dread.
Eclipsed by her darling feet and cruelly trussed toes were four more rings, each a foot apart. Their white feathers looked like the teeth of a shark coming to devour her.
She had time to beg and plead. She rolled her head sideways and shook her head in pantomime negation. But Dr. Veeravalli did nothing but watch. And the man at her side seemed even more disturbed by her plight. She could see him breathing hard over his wide gag. The doctor looked to her monitors and smiled.
The feathers slipped across her feet, band following band, one after another. She screamed and twisted, her nerves jangling at the nonstop sensations sweeping over her. Neerja canted her head back against her pinned arms, screaming aloud. “Oh mother! Mother! Why did you make me come her! No! Oh No! Nonono! I cannot stand it! Aiiieeeee!”
And then her world was white agony as she passed through the cloud of tickling tips. Worse were the ones that played across her hardening nipples, forcing jolts of raw sexual sensation into her overwhelming distress.
And then she was through. The last loop had swept past. Beyond her throbbing feet was another hole in the wall. Thank goodness it was over.
A glance to the side. The man shook his head, distressed by what he’d seen. But the good doctor ignored his mute protests, pushing his cart along to follow Neerja’s path.
She rolled into the echoing tunnel again, her body tingling. Shamefully she realized from a cool streak across her trim belly that her distress had aroused her passions. The wicked feathers had traced across her sex, dragging her wetness across her belly like a sexual poet’s quill.
Another ninety degree turn. Again, an arch of white. Another room.
Some capitalists had tried to build an auto plant in her city, some years back. It was to be state-of-the-art, fully robotic. But it had failed, its components sold off to meet the creditors’ demands.
To the advantage of Dr. Veeravalli. And the distress of Neerja.
All along her path stood painting machines whose thin arms were tipped with paint brushes. As her cart rolled into the room, a hidden relay was activated. As one, the multitude of arms lowered their slender brushes into waiting cans of paint. She looked from one head to the next, trembling at the sight of a half-hundred brushes, their tips dripping with glistening globs of yellows, reds, oranges, and blues. With a collective whine, the tips positioned themselves in her path, much as the feathers had been placed.
“No! Oh no, I do not wish to be painted ! Please, for the love of the gods, Doctor Veeravalli, do not do this to me! I will do anything for you that you wish, no matter how degrading! Anything! I will serve! I will lick! I will… I…!!! Aiieeeeee! Nooooooo!”
The first of the brushes played across her maidenly feet, spinning and osculating in pre-programmed patterns. In a moment, the girl’s pale pink soles had been colored with tormentful swaths of brilliance. And so they worked along her body, etching their machine-coded penmanships along her trembling legs and quivering flanks. And as each brush moved on, another took its place. All along her body, from her feet up, the brushes wiggled and danced, driving the trapped girl to near insanity. She could no longer feel her feet, so nonstop was the sensation. Her sex radiated heat, excited by the over-sensation. An instant later, a loaded brush plopped through it, painting her maidenhood bright red. She screamed in pain-wracked delight as two more brush-tips illuminated her hard nipples in swaths of green and blue.
Her world hazed into clouds of color as her goggles were coated. And now that she could no longer see what the ruthless machines were doing to her, it grew even worse. She could not brace for the sweep of a brush. She could only react when its stiff bristles played across her flanks and armpits. In her mind, she realized that she must look like some goddess of bliss, multicolored, endlessly filled with joy and laughter. The only constant were her reverberating screams. She was nothing… nothing…
Darkness fell over her, the next tunnel. With her goggles painted, she could not see a thing. Her rasping gasps sounded over the trundling wheels. Her goggles were filled with wet salty tears.
Beneath her, the cart rotated again, going onto the third side of the control room. Certainly there was nothing more Doctor Veeravalli could arrange. Neerja was little more than a ruined heap of flesh.
The goggles glowed like stained glass windows as she rolled into the next room. Near sobbing, she gasped, “Spare me. Please, spare me…”
Something rapped her neatly in the belly, a quick touch that brought an uninvited giggle to her lips. It felt so much like the quick stroke of a finger. For a moment, she wondered if the webbed-up onlooker had somehow gotten free. When she had last glimpsed him, he had been flushed and frantic, his passions white-hot from her torments. Perhaps he was astride her cart, his fingers ready to prod and grope. But that was impossible. Dr. Veeravalli had bound him up too securely. He could simply not have escaped, not even if he’d had days.
Another thought came, of mature, glamorous Dr. Veeravalli abandoning her instruments and subject, of her slipping into the test area. In her mind, Neerja saw her slipping out of her shoes and carefully clambering aboard the card, her eyes flashing, her scientific research forgotten.
Another lancing touch across her hip. Neerja yipped. Frantically, she shouted, “Leave me, whoever you are. Do not toy with a defenseless girl!” Another touch, then another. How could anyone move so quickly. Then something rapped against her goggles. The paint turned runny. The young girl flicked her head, clearing her vision somewhat.
A forest of pipes filled the room her cart now transversed. Mounted like evil growths, mounted nozzles tracked her passage, water drooling from their tips in an obscene parody. As she watched, another one fired a jet at her, a tight stream that rippled across her chest. She snickered even as dismay rose within. She’d only moved through the outskirts of the piping. Countless nozzles tracked with evil expectations.
Three streams hit her feet at once, cleaning the paint from it and sending the girl into involuntary spasms. More played across her soles, her toes, her heals, raising howls of laughter from the buckled beauty. And as she moved forward, more and more streams came into play, agitating her ribs, her armpits, her belly.
Poor Neerja screamed, rocking against her straps like a mad woman, her lungs burning as she laughed and laughed and laughed. She existed in a haze of spray, every nerve tingling from the flow, every sense overloaded. Her brown skin emerged from its colorful encasement, glowing with agitation, beading with water and sweat. Her hair fanned out, soaked. The cart creaked as she lunged back and forth, as desperate as a little trapped animal. And still the torment continued, unstoppable, unquenchable, diabolical.
Neerja twisted to the nearby control room window, screaming, begging, pleading. Behind the misting glass, Dr. Veeravalli watched with a lazy smile, her eyes dreamy. At her side, her test subject quivered and shuddered, overcome by the sight of a strapped tawny girl passing beneath the cunning jets. It was as if he was in as much torment as she.
A spray thudded into her knee. She screamed, hoarse. Even knees were ticklish if touched just right. Two more jets hosed into her armpits. In that moment, she was no longer little lazy Neerja; she was a beast-woman, a wailing thing of flesh, lacking intelligence, even lacking a soul. Her heart hammered. Her lungs were twin bellows. Every muscle ached from the strain. She could take no more. Her cruel mistress Veeravalli was going to kill her. In a moment, a sodden corpse would be all that remained. Her soul would pass on to the heavenly worlds…
But Dr. Veeravalli had calculated her devices with cruel cunning. Before Neerja suffered any serious injury, she’d passed through the zone. She lay on her cart, shuddering, chortling, water streaming over the sides, a buckled, distraught dusky Venus. It was over, she realized. Over.
Not quite.
Through beaded goggles, she realized that over the final portal, three nozzles waited. Two in parallel, another below. She looked up in confusion at this arrangement, not understanding what it meant. Then she thought of the placement of her own sexual zones and realized the connection.
“No! NO! Do not do this to me, Miss Veeravalli. I could not endure it! I could not…!”
Then the three nozzles let fly, determined streams striking her crisply between her legs and across her breasts. The stimulation was that of a hundred hungry slaves touching her, lapping her, nibbling her most tender spots. She notched back her head and screamed in agony, betrayal, and gathering ecstasy. A moment later, a powerful surge swept through her, a reaction like beyond anything she’d ever known. The jets tracked her, holding her on this edge, forcing her sexual energy to flare in an endless cycle of self-triggering stimulation. Neerja could see herself, strapped and soaked, ticked and molested, and the self-image of her plight excited her all the more. Her screams now were of a deeper note, no longer shrill but deeper, as if from the depths of a woman’s soul.
And then it was truly done. The water shut off and she passed out of heaven. In the last moment in the room, she looked back to see the doctor smiling down at her monitors. To her side, her test subject convulsed on his own, swept up into Neerja’s maelstrom. Then darkness fell.
She was back in the room she’d started, water dripping on the floor, steam rising from her belly. Done. Oh merciful gods, she was alive. Her skin tingled and her ribs ached, but her sexual center still reverberated from its experience. Wondrous. Simply wondrous.
Languidly, she rolled her head to the side. Dr. Veeravalli was cleaning up her test subject with a tissue, smiling at his groggy discomfort at finding a capable woman professional taking such liberties without consent. He looked up, straight to Neerja, with tear-streaked eyes. I did that, the girl thought. I pulled him over the brink with me.
The door opened and Dr. Veeravalli entered, pushing her vertically-pinioned test subject into the room. The man, still gagged, could only moan.
“You have done well, little Neerja. Such a sensitive beauty. You were ever so good. I shall now release you.”
Neerja simply lay in her afterglow, watching as Dr. Veeravalli’s firm fingers worked free the cords which bound her toes. One by one, the straps were unbuckled. Finally, with the older woman’s help, Neerja was able to drop her legs over the cart’s side, her legs dangling amid the discarded belting.
“I was wondering,” the doctor said, “if you might wish to further help me in my studies. I have another test subject lined up for the day after tomorrow. If you think you would enjoy it, I could run you through my device again. I’d really like to collect further data.”
Neerja nodded. Yes, it would be most entertaining to endure these unspeakable, unending torments again. The thought of them made her heart trip a little faster.
“Now come with me. We will see you dressed and paid.”
Neerja placed a hand on the handsome woman’s arm. With a mouse-like voice, she said, “I would like one further thing.”
Dr. Veeravalli beamed. “Of course, dear. Anything you might wish.”
The bedraggled Indian lass nodded to the trussed man. “I should like to watch him go through the machine.” A darting tongue flickered across her lips. “I should like to see him tortured by feathers, brushes, and jets.”
The man’s eyes flashed open. He shook his head frantically, wheedling though his thick gag. No, no, no he signaled in dismay.
“Of course, dear. That would be most entertaining. Come, help me unbuckled him and strap him onto the cart…”

The End

RUNOFFSTAGE · Jan 26, 2008

MORE, MORE :bowing:

Test Subject - Mech/F

Rohana

Registered User

RUNOFFSTAGE

4th Level Red Feather