Pavlov (Closed- Please PM)

I recall how it used to be. Before he found that bell.

It's funny, how simple a little instrument can seem, until you find it has another purpose.

Things can change so easily in your life.

I used to be his assistant, you know. I was a college freshman, so proud to have been chosen by the professor to help with his latest experiment. He insisted it was something that would be the next great theorist's debate. The same as the veins of Shroedinger, Thorndike and Woodworth.

But the one that fascinated him so much.
Pavlov.
How a single bell could cause such a change...
Every night, and every morning. We would meet. He would ask me to sit at that table, and he would ring that bell. Stare at me. Tell me a task. Ring it again.

He nearly drove me mad.
But that bell. I always heard that bell.
Weeks passed, then months. Of that bell.
His voice.
Commands. No longer simple tasks. But commands.

I started hearing it in my sleep.
I needed a task from him.

To hear the real bell, the way it sounded.... It could change my entire persona.
I became someone not myself.
I became someone who was not a person.
I became... Simply his.

It was all that bell, I swear. Something about it, a tone that it gave off. it did something to my head, to my mind. It made me want to forget myself.... To be everything he wanted me to be. That sound that haunted me, day after day.

I'm still his assistant, and still a student here at the University.
But he always carries that bell.
No one asks why we spend so much time together.
No one asks why he takes me places.

I think they know.
But once he rings that bell... I no longer care.
I am simply his.
The pet he wishes me to be.


Alice quickly closed her journal, setting inside the Professor's office, waiting for him to return. Something about a meeting. But she knew how evenings went. She was to wait for him, here, at the edge of his desk. Make her notes of the day, of how things had gone for her, of the thoughts that had come to her mind.

As the thick leatherbound book slipped into her bag, she traded it for a small mirrored compact she had buried into one of the bag's pockets, checking over her makeup briefly. Not that it really mattered. Sometimes he would completely wipe it off her face- other times, he would make her redo it entirely.

Two and a half years of this.
That bell.
She shivered at the mere thought if it, a wetness growing between her thighs. She swore she heard it right then, knowing full well that was impossible. He held so tightly to that thing, guarded it so completely.

His Bell.
His Alice.
His Pet.

Until that sounded, she was her own person. Free to do as she pleased. Another student, another young woman making her way through college, trying to make things meet as best she could.

But when the bell rang. That tiny tinkling sound filled her ears, clouded her mind.
All of that was forgotten.
Everything was to him. His wish, his command. Everything to please him. Every word he uttered, she would oblige.
She didn't really understand it either, aside from the psychological standpoint. Conditioning. That sound set off something within her, something he had planted so well inside her.

His little Pavlov's Dog.

Professor Wright gave a sigh of relief as he and the other pillars of the Psychology Department were dismissed from the tedious meeting. To Phil, it felt like the Section Chair was preaching to the choir, at least in his case. The entire meeting was dedicated to encouraging tenured staff members to continue experimenting and publishing, continuing the ongoing quest to understand the most complex nuances of the human mind.

If only he knew about Phil's Pet Project...

Of course, he couldn't broadcast the intimate details of this revised Pavlov's experiment, not at a staff meeting. Not until it was ready, until she was ready. If Phil had followed protocall, if he'd published his findings as soon as they were compiled, he would almost certainly not be stuck in this awful meeting, with the Section Chair glaring daggers at him. Then again, someone might get the wrong idea, someone might think what he was doing was immoral, unconscionable, perverse. Such is the curse of all true innovators.

It wasn't about the sex, not for Phil, it really wasn't. If anything the sexual component in his experiment was the direct result of his chosen subject, Alice. She was the one who was tormented by hormonal frustration and possessed of the unique, carnal appeal that made sexual congress such an obvious choice for making her into an obedient fuck pet. Perhaps a more creative Professor would have conditioned a subject toward more altruistic and socially acceptable reactions, but it was far to late to alter purposes now.

Phil packed his things quickly, filling the slender briefcase with his handbook and a legal pad on which he'd taken not a single note. On the pad, he'd merely drawn a freehand sketch of a small bell. Dante, the Psychology Department Chair, was giving Phil the same look that he always gave his own students who tried to pack their bags before they were dismissed. Phil didn't care. Tenure ensured that he couldn't be fired, not by Dante or even a whole tribunal of Deans. They'd all be kissing his ass once he published these findings.

While his peers and supervisors made their way out to their cars, all complaining at being kept after five, Phil made his way back to the Psych Building. The daily classes were complete and night classes wouldn't begin for several hours, the building was all but abandoned, making his long steps echo down the hall as he made his way toward his office, the last office in the long hallway, the only one with lights on.

From within a pocket, inside his courdoroy sports coat with suede elbow pads, Phil extracted the small, sterling bell. He kept the bell wrapped neatly in a brown, silk scarf. He always made certain to wrap the tiny hammer at the center of the bell, it was vital to the experiment that the sound was only produced when he intended it. Some months ago, still early in the process, he'd forgotten to do this, and the bell clanged just faintly inside his coat. It was bad enough that he'd needed to ask Alice his T.A. to excuse herself. Since then, Phil always remembered to wrap the hammer.

"Good evening, Alice." Phil said courteously, moving behind her to sit at his dask, barely sparing a glance up for her as he flipped through the pile of term papers on his desk. "I see you've finished with the grading. Good girl."

Phil set the bell down on the desk, slowly and with purpose. He set it within her sight, allowing her to see it still wrapped. He wanted her to appraise her feelings, being so close to the bell, but also to know them as her own. The most intriguing part of this experiment had been the side-effects on Alice and Phil as well, if he was honest with himself.

"I want you to tell me what you're feeling." Phil said, the same measured and deliberate tone that he often employed to talk down students who screamed at him over their grades. "Right now, free of the conditioning influence. What are you feeling? Is it anticipation? Excitement? Dread? Is this time of night something you look forward to?"

With that, Phil leaned back in his brown leather recliner, the old hinges creaking from years of use. The yellow legal pad was in his lap and he pulled a ball-point pen from his breast pocket, clicking the point out to write with.

Click-Click

The heavy step of his shoes against the hall floor was enough to tell Alice where he was, scooting herself aside to allow him room to his desk. The simple greeting received one in return, Alice nodding slightly to him as she readjusted her bag into her lap. "Good evening, Professor." She watched as he checked everything over, pleased to hear him find everything in their proper order.

Requirements that she knew well. A teacher's assistant had her duties to follow. Above all, that's what she knew to do. Follow the expectations, keep to the tasks given. "I also spoke with the librarian on the file footage you had requested of the various trial experiments. She said they should be available Wednesday. I'll go pick them up as soon as she calls me."

It wasn't completely too far from the "other" tasks she provided. Funny, however, that it was such a difference to others. A job given to her, to anyone, was seen as a set expectation.. Cause and consequence. Yet, when she kept to the ones shown to her at those other times, some people would see it as questionable... or even deplorable. Why? It was simply another case of conditioning, was it not? Merely because a bell was-

She paused as the item in question was placed upon his desk so casually, Alice staring at it for a moment. Every thought she had been pondering lept from her mind, her focus taken to that tiny instrument left in her sight. Still wrapped, left in its safety from his pocket. Her gaze drifted over to its owner, her lips drawing together slightly as the earnest tug pulled within her.

Studies first. The questions, research.
Alice would do her best to answer.

A deep breath, trying to draw her eyes away from the brown cloth. Can't really answer if staring at that the whole time. Can't really stop staring at it.

"Anxiety, slightly," She agreed slowly, her voice softening a bit. "Anticipation, greatly. I can feel my heart rate has increased. Salivation. Loss of focus elsewhere... Professor, please, aren't you going to ring it?" The sudden blurt had a touch of a begging whine to it, her eyes finally managing to break free to look up at him pleadingly.

Realization of what she had done quickly hit, Alice shaking her head and staring down at the floor, her hands balling into her lap. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- I'm sorry, Professor. That was... Out of place and- More of.... Expectation and the anxiety. This point is... Yes. It's... I wait for this, anymore. As soon as I hear your steps, in that hall, knowing that you've got it in your hand, just waiting, waiting for that tiny little noise, that tinkling to hit my ears-"

She paused again, this time to let out the breath she hadn't even realized she had been struggling with. "The way that bell makes me feel... It's so overwhelming, and yet freeing at the same time. I've come to crave it. I see even just a decorative bell, and it does it to me. I don't... It's so confusing." Her eyes lifted just enough to peek at it once again.

Still hiding.
But she knew it was there.
"It's so hard to focus."

Phil listened intently as his ordinarily efficient and well-spoken assistant stumbled over her words, clearly distracted by the sight of the bell. Everything she described was carefully written into the Professor's meticulous notes. Anxiety, anticipation... salivation? An unexpected side-effect of her conditioning, he made an asterisk next to the word, indicating that he'd need to research the phenomenon further. Some of her answers were self evident, for instance that she craved the sound of the bell, this had been obvious from the moment that he set it on the table. "Difficult to focus." That one Professor Wright underlined and circled.

"Thank you for your honesty Alice, you may set down your bag." Phil said courteously, setting his own notes aside with one hand while the other lightly untucked one corner of the silk, exposing the polished black handle for the first time. "I'll be recording today's session as well."

Once the bell was exposed, gleaming and immaculate in the light, Phil reached into his desk to pull out a small, hand camcorder. With a deft press of his thumb, the red light on the front of the camera lit and Phil began to recap his experiment for the tape.

"It's February Twelfth, two-thousand and ten. Day seven-hundred and thirty-two of 'Wright's Revised Pavlovian Theory'. My assistant Alice is here as well, the primary test subject A. Subject has expressed difficulty focusing, a feeling of being distracted and even a deep craving and yearning for the Conditioning Influence. I have experienced some of these feelings as well of late. As of yet, it's uncertain if these feelings are the direct product of the Conditioning, or rather some irrelevant reaction to the nature of the experiments conducted."

As he recapped the relevant information for his notes, Wright took his time filming his subject, in slow moving pans and sweeps, zooming in on her blue eyes. Once he'd finished with his clinical assessment, the camera was locked into the stationary tripod, already positioned to film the center of the room. With the camera in place, Phil reached out, touching the handle of the bell with just the tip of his index finger.

"Subject A will now move to the center of the room and face the camera so that we can begin."

"Yes, Professor." Alice nodded a firm single motion, setting her bag aside as he finished his own writings. She knew well what part came next- a part she dreaded, in her current state. Being left that exposed to the camera always made her nervous, self conscious. These videos would someday be used in his scientific findings, during presentations.... And she was never sure on how she looked in them.

At least, for the moment, it was a concern.

Just the sight of the handle, the proud gleaming black wood that seemed to taunt her.... Alice could only swallow, trying to keep from staring.

She sat still as he gave the vocal slate, her gaze falling to her hands, to her skirt... The floor, the edge of his table, anywhere she could to keep her eyes from falling on that bell. As he recalled certain parts of her recanting, she glanced up at him, a nervous smile given to the red light watching her. A hand raised slowly, brushing a falling lock of hair from her eyes, only to return to her lap.

The addition of his own reactions, however, was a new thing. She glanced at him curiously with that, a sudden blush filling her cheeks before looking to the floor once more. His steps moved him about the floor, the little click of the stand letting her know he was ready, looking up long enough to see him glance her way with a nod.

With the words spoken, she stood, her bag left behind on the chair as her steps took her over to stand before the camera. Openly presented, her hands at her sides, glancing past the lens to the man who ran the experiments.

Fingertips upon the bell.
Alice drew a breath, closing her eyes.
Trembling.

It rang.
A gentle, tiny, tinkling noise. So soft, yet so loud. Echoing in the room, into her ears.
Overpowering... Yet empowering.

She fell to her knees, her head lowered, her palms resting downward upon her thighs. Waiting for him to speak. To say anything, to tell her what he wished from her. No motion. Simply... waiting.

Phil watched his beautiful student, timidly moving to the center of the room, looking slightly nervous, uncomfortable and anxious as she almost always did, just before he introduced the conditioning influence. One light flick of his wrist was all it took, he rang the bell.

Ping-Pa-Da-Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggg

The bell was specially designed with two small rings of banded iron fused with the silver, only obvious to one who knew what they were looking for, which made the last tone of the bell carry on for a long time after the ring. It's sound was wholly unique, unlike any other bell that existed, it might have seemed a small detail, but it was crucial to the experiment that it not be a sound easily replicated.

"Subject A will now remove her blouse slowly, unbuttoning from top to bottom. She will then fold it three times and place it in the center of my desk before returning to her position."

Phil's voice cracked ever so slightly over the word 'unbuttoning', it still felt so coarse, so perverse to be commanding her such things as this, but it was crucial that these commands be outside of her comfort zone. He enjoyed it as well, from a purely carnal point-of-view. And what was wrong with that? He was a red-blooded, American male. Sex sold, that was the bottom line, and Phil considered himself very prudent to have factored in his experiment's marketability.

Very prudent indeed.

"Now she will remove her bra and climb onto the desk, setting the garments in my lap. As the subject moves closer, she will feel herself becoming increasingly aroused until the very cloth that remains on her body is nearly enough to bring her to sexual climax, but not quite. Once she is in position, she may remove her panties, but not her skirt."

That sound was overwhelming. Blissful and scary at the same time. As soon as it hit her ears, she felt everything just.... slip away. Peaceful and on edge. Ready and waiting.

It was time to stop worrying about her own thoughts and fears.
To give up all the what ifs and doubts, the questions about everything inside her mind.
Nothing left of hers to question. Everything for him to decide.

His voice echoed into her ears, words not directly addressed even to her, but made certain the point of their intent as he spoke for the camera. Alice stood from her spot on the floor, undoing the buttons of her shirt slowly, letting the little mother of pearl pieces slip free of the holes until the fabric hung loosely from her shoulders. Walking across the floor, it was folded neatly, set upon his desk, her eyes raising just enough to acknowledge that she had completed the task.


Alice returned to her spot, looking to him, simply waiting. Her hands folded before her, listening for more. Hoping for further. Wanting to do anything to please him, to know that she had accomplished what he wanted of her.

More words. Longer this time. She hung to every syllable, closing her eyes for a brief moment to take them all in. As the last of the request left his lips, her fingers set to work, reaching up behind her to undo the clasps of her bra, letting the straps fall from her shoulders and folding that in half as well, clutching it in her hands. Moving back toward the desk, she kept her gaze upon him, waiting for more words to leave his lips, the sound of his voice rolling along in her head.

His voice...
The sound of it...
The warmth of the room...
The touch of her skirt, the feel of her own panties, nestling against the folds of her pussy, the way it cradled against her- she could feel every movement, the way it seemed to pet and grope along her bare flesh beneath. The idea of his voice, the commands that came from it..

A tiny whimper left her, a shiver running through her skin. But he had called for her- told her to get on the desk...
Walking was... hard...

Slow steps, barely three taken back towards his desk so far.
Deep breaths, try to stay focused. Nearly panting... Her body was already clenching in ache for more. A burning inside her, a desperate want for him to speak, to touch... something, anything. Worse than when her thoughts were her own. That need for him. More.

The whimper traded for a moan as she climbed up onto his desk, the rub of her panties against her sex during the motions leading to a trembling body waiting for him atop his planner calendar. Leaning forward, she placed the shirt that had waited for her, and her bra, into his lap, her mouth still slightly open as she breathed out softly.

Back up. Legs spread. her panties peeled down her thighs, a string of wet arousal following from the fabric and her aching lips. Her skirt left open before him, her legs resting on the sides of the desk. Her gaze was left in only one place- upon him, her chest rising and falling with the hard breaths she took, another moan leaving her, nearly the sound of a pup whining for attention.

Phil watched intently as his subject obeyed his command to the letter, doing as he'd instructed and filling the small office space with the lyrical sound of her moaning in arousal. He accepted the bundle of clothes that he had accepted, eyes moving deliberately over Alice's exposed flesh. It wasn't long before the desire overpowered his restraint and he reached out to lightly cup his assistant's generous breast as it hung down in her current position, his smooth wrinkled palms sliding effortlessly over the soft surface.

"Good girl..." Phil whispered reflexively, lifting and squeezing the bounty of flesh in his palm before resuming his narrative for the camera. "The subject has become infinitely more vulnerable to suggestion, complying without hesitation to any command."

After holding the nearest breast to him aloft and caressing for a decent interval, Phil's hand descended, focusing his fingertips in on the nipple and pinching lightly. Causing the nub to become erect. Then abruptly, the contact was gone, replaced by the abrasive sound of the wheels on his armchair rolling swiftly over the hardwood floor of his office.

Coming to a stop behind his beloved Subject, Phil allowed his hands to creep slowly up the back of Alice's thighs, hiking her skirt higher up around her hips. His face was drawn in, reflexively toward the warm, fragrant opening of his nubile student's honey pot. He wanted to taste her, right then and there- yet he restrained himself long enough to document the event to preserve the integrity of the experiment.

"Subject has complied with suggestion on a physical level as well, displaying the unmistakable characteristics of extreme feminine arousal. It would likely take very little for her to climax- however, for the sake of the experiment I'm ordering the subject not to climax until she hears the sound of the bell again." Phil dictated his notes between Alice's legs as though she were holding a recorder within her. "And she will not."

Reaching over her, Phil grasped the bell and slid it meticulously across the table, out of her sight and close to where he had arranged himself. With that detail secured, that the bell should not ring until it was him that rang it, Phil allowed his hunger to overpower his reasoning, scientific mind. The salt and pepper stubble about his face made a light crackling sound as it passed over stocking clad thighs.

Phil's tongue crept out, moving inside of her as deep as he could push it, whipping circles as he withdrew, his spectacles offset on his face now. His tongue wove its way down and outward, slipping under the hood of her clitoris deftly, gripping her ass cheeks to hold her in place. How long this little withholding game would last was variable, but Phil was hoping for an escalation.

Once Alice's clit was erect, Phil sucked on it, loudly; giving no concern to how crude it must have sounded through the video camera's rudamentary microphonics. He was only concerned with making certain that his subject wanted to cum.

A tiny sharp breath was the only sound that left Alice's lips as her professor.. her handler... brushed his hand against her breast, her gaze still upon him, but seemingly passed through him. On and beyond. The only response given directly to him truly being the start of a faint smile with his whispered praise, barely a waver of her lips from the simple words.

She could hear his voice. But no words to her. Not important to her ears. She would listen to what was meant for her, and nothing more. His touch was her guide at the moment, the way his hand caressed and explored, a meek whimper at the pinch left against her nipple.

Her head fell just a bit as he drew away, wheeling around the desk, shivering as his fingers found her flesh once again; simple, trailing motions up her thighs, raising her skirt, exposing her once again to his judging eyes.

An order. She listened as it was reinstated, a light single nod of her head given in response to it. She would obey. The scrape of the bell against the table caused her ears to perk, but it continued to hold the silence internally, her fingers clutching a bit tighter to the edge of his desk. Another thing she had come to expect. If the bell was moved for "safe keeping", he was going to take things further. Test her more. The order given was certainly an indication as well...

A shudder ran through her as the tickle of his light facial hair met against her thighs, her eyes closing and a tiny gasp leaving her lips as he met his tongue to her dripping sex. Certainly a test.

She would obey.

The bell, his voice. All of it.. she had to obey, as hard as it was for the rest of her body to understand, lost in the feel of his probing and teasing tongue. Things she couldn't control; the rock of her hips gently trying to find him, the growing whimper in her throat... her nipples hardening, her pussy aching for more. Another groan, louder this time, though nothing else to follow.

She had to obey, she had to... the bell was in her head, his voice buried into her mind.

His lips teasing and suckling, claiming that little button of desperate nerves and frustration tightly between them and taunting so heavily- her arms trembled against the desk, her fingertips clenching even tighter as her thighs trembled. She would not cum. She would not. She would not-

"N-Nuh-"
The sounds of her own effort to contain was barely above a whisper, her eyes clenched tightly closed.

Her body understood now.

It fought, held back. Desperately wanting, but refusing. His mouth claimed her cunt, but an unseen hand, guided by his voice, clutched tightly inside her. Strangled her. Refused to let it through- Even if she wanted, it was trapped, held by him without a single finger upon her at the moment.

Dr. Wright leaned back, the hinges in his rolling desk chair squealing in response to his shifting weight. He loved watching his experiment come to fruition as it had. His subject was clearly struggling, yearning for that release of tension that only a ring of the bell could bring, that release he had conditioned her to allow him control of. He rolled slowly over the hardwood floor, extracting the small camcorder from its tripod and moving it closer to Alice's face.

"Let the record show that the subject's conditioning is preventing her from achieving climax without the stimulus." Phil stated for the record, using one hand to frame Alice's lovely face in the camera, while his other hand remained between her thighs, rubbing with increasing ferocity against her clit. "Subject will explain for the record what she is feeling, in absence of the stimulus."

The fruition of the long conditioning process was well preserved in the record already, but Phil never grew tired of witnessing the struggle within his cherished subordinate during these moments of internal conflict. Forcing her to give voice to that same urgent impasse of which he was the architect.

While Alice attempted to do as she was bidden, Phil returned to his private oasis between her thighs, still rubbing small concentric circles against her clit while his tongue reached inside of her, undulating slowly, then lapping fast at the fragrant juices which came forth.

Just as his subject began to approach something almost like coherent analysis, the springs of the chair complained again as Phil rose to his feet. The sound of his belt buckle was followed closely by the sound of his zipper. Though Phil was loathe to admit it, his experiments with Alice always awakened the primal lust inside him which ought to have been reserved for younger men. The confines of his professional slacks and boxers were suddenly impractical for containing the turgid girth of his veiny erection.

Still rubbing at her clit, Phil wiped his beard clean of her juices, using them in his palm to lubricate the length of his cock, close enough to feel the warmth of her hot, young sex. He took a moment to align himself with the exquisite tightness of his assistant's pussy, and then slowly, meticulously buried himself inside that molten embrace, burying himself to the root.

The instant he was inside, Phil groaned in abject appreciation. He picked up the bell from the desk and swung his arm mightily, up and down, granting her the impetus for which she'd been waiting so long and so patiently. The sound overwhelming in it's contrast to the subtle, melodic tones from before.

Pang!-Da-Ba!-Daaaaaannnnng!