The Submission Of Subject 532

An eBook By Reese Gabriel.

CHAPTER ONE

The classified ad in the university newspaper was in equal measures disturbing and intriguing. Twenty four year old Brooke Raines, stomach down on the bed in pink panties and a green half shirt from PJ's Pub, read it again and again trying to figure out the deal.

Wanted: Female subject for research study. Effects of mild captivity on sexual behavior. Pay negotiable. Apply to G. Simon Nite, Doctor of Psychostratology. Building Q. Call University Ext 78689 for Appt.

The first thing that struck the shapely graduate student with her silky auburn hair and laughing green eyes was why it had to be a female. Weren't males affected by mild captivity, or didn't anyone care about that? Or did they already have a male subject, some gung ho macho guy ready to advance science and look really cool in the process.

And exactly what did they mean by mild captivity? Wasn't any form of captivity pretty extreme? On the other hand, if the subject consented, that didn't sound like actual captivity at all.

Even more interesting, what specifically were they looking for in a woman's sex behavior? What did they think would change and what gave them the right to ask?

Whatever was going on, this Doctor G. Simon Nite must have anticipated having a hard time finding a willing female if they were will to negotiate on a pay rate. Usually you took what you could get as a subject on these studies, sometimes as little as twenty bucks for an afternoon's work.

Brooke should know, since she'd been collecting as an experimental guinea pig for a year and a half since starting her doctorate in Human Sexuality. There wasn't much choice when you were trying to live off scholarships and grants.

With her body and personality she could probably do exotic dancing on the side, and actually that would interest her given her specialization in the field of human sexual studies, but the hours didn't really interest her, nor was she up for a lot of playing up to desperate men right now.

The idea of writing her own ticket in terms of serving as a study subject appealed to her, to be sure. And so did getting a close hand look at this operation in Building Q. There might be a term paper topic in it. It could even be there was something unethical here that needed reporting.

Reaching for the cell phone on the corner of the bed, she dialed the extension listed in the ad. Brooke was surprised to get the man himself. It was already well past eleven and this Nite was still in his office.

"Nite," he rasped, his tone clipped and almost military.

"I'm calling about the ad," she said, not wanting to waste any time on frivolity following such a curt introduction.

"Be at the main entrance to Building Q," he said. "Tomorrow, seven a.m. for an interview."

Brooke was more than a little taken aback by the man's approach. It was like he'd known she was going to call. "Just like that?" she asked.

"Is there a problem?"

"Well ... no," she admitted. "But what if there had been? I might have had a scheduling conflict."

"In that case we would have eliminated you from consideration." Nite broke the connection without another word.

Weird.

Brooke decided to do some poking around on the Net. There was no Professor Nite listed at the university site, nor was there any Department of Psychostratology.

Double weird.

A search under the term itself led her to some really obscure stuff, journals, odd links to databases as far away as Russia and South Africa.

"You ever hear of a Professor Nite?" she asked her boyfriend Peter as he loped into the bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a five o'clock shadow.

"Nope." Peter hoisted a mineral water, appreciating the sight of the gorgeous young woman sitting Indian style on the bed with her laptop. "But maybe if we fuck it'll jog my memory."

Brooke, who had her long hair up in a topknot and a pen tucked behind her ear, ignored him as she tried a different angle. Plugging into the campus directory again she looked up Building Q. "Holy shit," she muttered a moment later, having identified it as a restricted area. "Whoever this guy is, he must be doing something top secret."

"There's no secret about how much I want you right now, Brooke."

"Honestly," she rolled her eyes, though she was pretty warm for his form, too. "Is sex all you think about? I'm trying to solve a mystery here."

"What mystery is that?" He unzipped his jeans and rolled them down. He had no underwear on, which meant his long cock and heavy balls popped right into view as he lowered his pants to his ankles.

She explained about the ad, trying not to focus on his fantastic shaft, already well on its way to full arousal. Not to mention the rest of his smooth, nicely muscled swimmer's body. He was like Michelangelo's David, with a tan.

"That idea appeal to you?" He asked, amused. "Being kept in captivity?"

"Absolutely not," she said, though she felt a little charge as she imagined the possibility. It was like a tiny jolt, from her nipples, straight down to her pussy. How silly; Brooke had never had those kind of extreme fantasies.

"Cause we can arrange something if you do," he teased.

Peter, her live in boyfriend of six months, a graduate economics major, took the laptop from her and set it on the nightstand.

"Do you mind?" she objected, not too convincingly. "I was using that."

"And I'm going to be using this." He slid alongside her, moving his hand under the skimpy shirt. He came up with a handful of breast at once.

She slapped at his hand. "A girl likes to be asked, you know."

His hand stayed right where it was. Actually, for the most part, Brooke did not like to be asked. She liked for a man to take charge in the bedroom, telling her what to do, and making her do what pleased him. This was relaxing to her, not to mention sexy as hell.

Dark eyed Peter was quite good at it, and he knew her rhythms well enough to play along when she wanted him to. "Then stop dressing like a little tramp in front of me; you're pretty much advertising for me to ravish you."

The dirty talk made her sopping wet. "The way I dress has nothing to do with you. I just like to be comfortable."

"Me, too ... inside your pussy."

Brooke put her hand over her lap. "Sorry, closed for the day."

She was egging him on and they both knew it. "Keep on arguing with me," he took control of her second breast, loving the erotic charge behind their interchange. "And you'll miss your little interview on account of being kept captive right here at home."

She let him pull the shirt up over her head. Brooke had no bra on, nor did she need one to hold up her perky, medium sized breasts.

"You better not keep me up," she quipped as he bent his head to suckle. "I have to be up early."

"I'm up now."

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