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 ï>¿Allison's Addiction bySchlankÂ(C)

   Allison's Addiction Ch.  01

   AUTHOR'S NOTE: "Allison's Addiction" is a joint literary effort.  I
joined forces with an author named Anon140 in order to create this story.
If you like this story, he should get part of the credit.  As always, if
you have any suggestions to improve the story, please click on my name, and
e-mail me your suggestions. 

   * * * * * 



   My name is Allison, and I'm an addict.  However, I'm not addicted to
cocaine or heroin, or any of the drugs the DEA is trying to keep out of the
hands of the public.  I'm addicted to being treated like a lesbian sex
slave. 

   No.  Wait.  I'm oversimplifying things again.  Let me start all over
again, from the beginning. 

   My name is Allison Brand.  I'm a twenty-two-year-old woman with a
history of being very athletic and physically active I have twelve years of
ballet training and four years of gymnastics training. 

   Some of you out there will hear that I've had twelve years of ballet
training and realize how impressive that is.  For those of you who have
never trained as a ballet dancer, allow me to explain something. 

   Ballet dancers are athletes. 

   We train just as long and just as hard as any Olympic class gymnast,
pole vaulter, sprinter or speed-skater.  In addition to whatever else is
going on in our lives, we show up every day for anywhere between six and
eight hours of ballet training.  This includes intensive stretching
exercises at the barre, lots of fast leg work, and leg extensions, and
that's before you've done centre work and allegro.  Then you get drilled on
choreography.  By the time you've completed a typical day of training, your
entire body is drenched with sweat, and almost every muscle and tendon in
your body is complaining that you pushed them too far. 

   And the next day, you show up and do it all over again. 

   The relevant point here is that I underwent this type of grueling
training for years,and I endured.  More than endured, I thrived.  Every
year I made extraordinary strides in my agility, my flexibility and my
endurance.  No matter how demanding the requirements laid down by
instructors, choreographers and ballet mistresses, I pushed myself and met
those requirements dead on. 

   As you can imagine, I took a great deal of pride in my body and all of
the things my body could accomplish.  Almost all of my self-worth was
derived from my superior physical abilities.  And then; in my early
twenties; when most people are at the height of their physical strength and
endurance; I began to suffer from chronic fatigue. 

   This was an unbearable hardship for me to go through.  I had spent my
life pushing my body to limits that ninety-nine percent of the human race
have never even attempted.  I was accustomed to having superhuman
endurance, and then suddenly no matter how much sleep she I got the night
before, I would wake up tired and stay tired all-day long.  I tried
drinking coffee, but the caffeine didn't seem to have any effect on me. 

   Now, the good news is that at this point in my life I had already given
up on ever becoming a professional ballet dancer.  A dancer suffering from
chronic fatigue would be destroyed.  Dancers have to constantly train, even
in the of-season.  Lying on the couch all day long is like a death sentence
to a ballet dancer.  If you lie around idle, you'll slowly lose your muscle
tone, your endurance and your flexibility...everything that you need to
dance on stage. 

   When I was nineteen, I had decided to give up on my dreams of dancing on
stage at the Kennedy Center, and took up a much easier career as a
professional model. 

   It turns out that the perfect posture, dancer's legs, flat abs, svelte
figure and narrow waist that you get from twelve years of ballet are
exactly the sort of physical qualities that photographers, artists and
fashion designers are looking for when they hire a model.  As a result,
transitioning from ballet to modeling was an easy changeover in my life. 

   And; while models don't have to work out nearly as hard as professional
ballet dancers; they still need to work out.  They still need to put in at
least seven hours of serious exercise every week in order to keep their
muscles toned, their tummy flat and their figure lithe and sexy.  You can't
keep a figure like mine by lying on the couch all day, every day. 

   A model won't lose her muscle tone and svelte figure after just one day
of being inactive, but slowly, day after day, week after week, she'll
become softer and more unimpressive-looking.  Eventually she'll lose
everything about her that's impressive and aesthetically pleasing.  Then
she won't be able to work in the modeling field anymore. 

   My regular doctor is Dana Anderson over at the Augustus Beach Family
Medical Center.  I went to see her, hoping for a quick remedy to my
fatigue. She checked my thyroid, my lungs and did at least a dozen blood
tests, but she still had no idea what was causing my symptoms. 

   Having run out of ideas, she referred me to another doctor that was
conducting clinical trials on a new, experimental drug called modirall. 

   "Take one of these, every morning," Doctor Khorkina instructed me, "And
keep a written log of the results.  I'd be especially interested in any
side-effects you may experience.  Make an appointment to come see me again
in two weeks, and we'll discuss your progress and see where we want to go
from there." 

   I took the bottle of pills and promised to see Doctor Khorkina in two
weeks.  I made the appointment, however I wasn't overly optimistic.  Since
the drug was experimental, that meant it had never been proven to combat my
symptoms.  Words like experimental rarely filled anyone with confidence. 

   * * * * * * * * * * 

   "How'd your appointment go?" Chloe asked when I returned home with my
bottle of experimental medication. 

   "I got drugs," I announced to my roommate and held up the plastic
bottle, shaking it dramatically for effect. 

   "Amphetamines?" 

   "I have no idea," I responded, "They're called modirall.  I've never
heard of them before, and I have no idea what they're supposed to do.  I'm
not even sure if the doctor knows what they're supposed to do.  I think
they want me to be a guinea pig and help them figure it out for them.  I'm
supposed to take one every day, and let my doctor know they cause
super-diarrhea or something." 

   "Are you sure you should take those?" Chloe asked, her voice suddenly
filled with concern, "What if they make your symptoms even worse?" 

   "Worse?  Are you kidding?" I asked, "Just walking up one flight of
stairs to my doctor's office is a major ordeal now.  How much worse could
it get?" 

   There was concern on Chloe's face, but she didn't answer my question. 
Obviously, it was possible for the wrong medication to make things worse.
The wrong medication could induce a heart attack and kill me, but I was at
a point where I felt like I was drowning, and I'd grasp at any potential
solution that floated by close enough for me to reach. 

   I'd know Chloe for about five years, and we'd been best friends for
about four years.  We'd met in Miss Straff's ballet class.  We didn't
really click at first, but eventually we discovered that we had a lot in
common, especially concerning the fact that we both had controlling and
manipulative mothers. 

   I plopped down on the couch and made an oomph sound.  Just being on my
feet long enough to walk from my car to the apartment building had worn me
out.  It was a short walk, but I was still exhausted. 

   "So, what's the plan?" Chloe asked, and then she walked over and
gracefully set her ass down onto the couch with far more grace than I had
managed.  I felt somewhat jealous of her.  I had lost all of my grace and
endurance, but she was just as perky and graceful as she ever was. 

   "Tomorrow morning, I start taking these," I explained to Chloe, "And I
keep a written record of how effective they are.  And of course, if there
are any weird side effects, like I start growing extra nipples, I'm
supposed to write that down, and let the doctor know about it." 

   "Jesus Christ," Chloe said and recoiled as if I had physically struck
her. 

   "It's a joke," I said, noticing Chloe's reaction, "I'm not really gonna
grow extra nipples...probably." 

   "This is your health we're talking about," Chloe protested, "Don't joke
about things like that.  I actually care about you, you know." 

   "I know," I said, sounding somewhat grumpy and petulant, "But I've
already tried a more conventional approach to getting better, and it didn't
work." 

   "So, now you're going to try an unconventional approach with untested,
mystery drugs?" 

   "Hey," I snapped at her, "These things just might work!  At one point in
time the smallpox vaccine was unconventional and untested, and that ended
up working out pretty well!" 

   Chloe folded her arms in front of her in a defensive sort of gesture and
gave me a wounded sort of look.  She really did care about me.  But, I was
irritable and desperate, and somewhat jealous of Chloe's excellent health,
whilst my health was in a disturbing downward spiral. 

   "I'm sorry I snapped at you," I eventually said, hoping to erase that
wounded look from her face, "Look, I don't start taking these things until
tomorrow morning.  If I get any weird or disturbing side-effects from this
drug, I will let you know immediately, and if you think the side-effects
are bad enough, I'll give you the entire bottle.  You can flush the pills
down the toilet if you want." 

   "Seriously?" Chloe asked. 

   "Seriously," I replied, "I'm putting you in charge.  I'll tell you about
any medical problems or reactions even before I tell my doctor." 

   "You know tomorrow's Tuesday," Chloe reminded me, "I have to go to work
tomorrow morning." 

   "I'll call you at work if anything bad happens," I said, "I swear." 

   I held up my hand like people do in court when they swear that oath to
tell the truth, and gave Chloe my most sincere face.  She was almost like a
big sister, the way she looked out for me. 

   "Give me the pills," Chloe said, "I'll give you one tomorrow morning,
and if there are no serious side-effects I'll give you another the
following morning.  And as long as I continue to think that they're safe,
I'll continue giving you one every day.  How's that sound?" 

   I was going to object at first, but thought better of it.  I'd known
Chloe since I was a teenager, and in all that time, she'd never done
anything malicious to me.  I trusted her to be supportive and caring once
again, just like she normally did, so, I handed over my pills to her. 

   Then she proceeded to make dinner for both of us, and she brought the
food over to the couch, so I could eat without having to get up.  Chloe can
be really sweet like that.  Then she cleared away the dishes and we both
watched an episode of Lucifer together. 

   Chloe and I love this show.  We both love the fact that it has strong
female characters, including a female bounty hunter, a female psychiatrist,
a female forensic specialist and a female homicide detective. 

   And the homicide detective was named Chloe Decker.  My roommate is named
Chloe Dechert.  Her name is almost exactly the same in spelling and
pronunciation, so when something bad happens to the Chloe Decker on the TV
screen, I can get all emotionally invested and act like it's happening to
my roommate. 

   Like when Detective Chloe Decker allowed Mazikeen (a knife-wielding
demon from hell) to take her seven-year-old daughter trick-or-treating, I
remember grabbing my roommate by the shoulders, shaking her violently and
melodramatically asking her, "How could you let a demon take your daughter
trick-or-treating?  What kind of mother are you?" 

   And struggling to keep a smirk off her face, my roommate replied, "Well,
an unfit mother, obviously." 

   In another episode, Mazikeen and Chloe pretended to be a married lesbian
couple in order to infiltrate a private school's event for parents.  Of
course, I had to give Chloe a hard time at this point and said, "You
married a demon?  How could you?" 

   "Well, yeah," my roommate retorted, "But, she's a really hot demon! 
Have you seen what she looks like in skintight leather pants?" And then she
got a sex-kitten look in her eyes and slowly and suggestively slid her
tongue across her lips. 

   I laughed.  I couldn't help it. 

   When the episode of Lucifer ended, an episode some other TV began, but
within a few seconds of the show beginning I drifted off to sleep. 

   * * * * * * * * * * 

   The next morning, Chloe woke me and gave me my pill before she headed
off to work.  Chloe works as an exercise physiologist over at the Fairhaven
Athletic Center.  It's much steadier work than modeling, and she's expected
to be at work, five days a week, fifty weeks out of the year. 

   "Call me if you experience any weird side-effects," she told me
firmly. 

   "Good morning to you too," I said grumpily, as I felt groggy as hell and
was bitter about being woken up. 

   "I'm serious," she said, "Hot flashes, chills, vomiting, the shakes,
anything like that, you call me right away.  Understand?" 

   "Yeah, yeah, yeah," I replied and I staggered off of the couch and took
my pill. 

   Chloe took off for work and left me all alone in the apartment.  I still
felt groggy, and decided to take a shower.  Immersing my body in hot water
would at least raise my body temperature, and make me feel more awake for a
short period of time.  Even if the pill didn't work, a hot shower would
make me feel refreshed for a few minutes. 

   I let the hot water pound my naked body and rubbed scented body wash all
over pelvis and torso.  This was done more out of habit, than an actual
need to get clean.  When I worked out I tended to get my entire body
drenched in sweat, and I desperately needed a shower to wash away the scent
of my own perspiration, but lately I hadn't had the energy to participate
in a workout. 

   And at some point, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. 

   I mean, really, really pounding. 

   My blood ran deliciously fast through my veins, and I could feel a
pleasant surge of eagerness in my muscles.  I was beginning to feel like my
old self again.  The whole time I had been suffering from chronic fatigue,
my muscles had felt stiff and rigid.  Now, I felt limber, my muscles were
like coiled springs, eager to be released. 

   It took me a few seconds to get out of the shower and dry off, then
another few seconds to pad barefoot into my bedroom and grab some clothes.
My body had been idle and unproductive for too long.  Now, it was like my
body was screaming at me to get back into action. 

   I didn't waste any time.  I grabbed a sports bra, some yoga leggings, a
V-neck t-shirt, some socks and my favorite pair of running shoes.  I got
dressed in a flash and tied my still-wet hair into a ponytail, stuffed my
keys, my iPhone and my wallet into a fanny pack, and fastened the pack
securely around my waist. 

   It took me less than six minutes to get from the shower, down to the
lobby of my apartment building and from there I went outside and jogged
north up Sycamore Avenue.  When I reached the intersection of Sycamore and
Birch Avenue, I went west down Birch and headed for Chandler Park. 

   Chandler Park had a bike path that was three miles long and if you
followed it all the way to the end, you'd end up on Lake Drive, where they
had a multitude of shops and restaurants.  I decided to follow it all the
way to end. 

   It was early morning, and there were some people in suits on their way
to work, teenagers on their way to school, as well as bicyclists, joggers
and runners all getting their morning exercise.  There was a complicated
system that we used that allowed us all to share the same path without
slowing down the flow of traffic or colliding into each other.  I'd lived
in Fairhaven almost my entire life, so I knew the system, and easily merged
into the flow. 

   I felt strong and energetic, and sprinted down the path like a speed
demon.  I passed most of the other pedestrians like they were standing
still.  It felt good to be my old, vigorous self again and I laughed
buoyantly every time I passed someone. 

   Of course, the people getting their exercise were dressed very much like
I was, in yoga leggings or bicycle shorts or tight capris, and I found my
eyes lingering on those people.  If you do a lot of legwork, you tend to
get very toned calves and thighs, and very toned glutes.  Without thinking
about it, I found myself admiring the shape of the firm, high buttocks that
were clearly visible through the thin fabric of their leggings or their
shorts.  I had never been the type to ogle other people in public before,
however it seemed that my libido (which normally is set on two or three)
had been cranked up to eleven.  And it wasn't just the men.  I found myself
checking out the shape of women as well.  I had never been the type to be
attracted to other women before but, damn Fairhaven had some very
attractive females!  I tried not to stare, but my eyes seemed to have a
plan of their own, and they refused to listen to me! 

   It was confusing, but kind of thrilling.  It was like discovering a new
type of beauty in Fairhaven that had always existed, but I had always been
blind to before.  Perfectly shaped thighs and buttocks just seemed to be
everywhere I looked.  My body responded to the visual display in front of
me and I could feel a familiar throb in my loins. 

   I shook my head and tried to concentrate on my run.  I sprinted down the
path like a machine, moving so fast that the sight of hips, pelvises,
buttocks and thighs disappeared from my view almost as quickly as they
appeared.  I worked up a sweat and panted as I ran.  I gobbled up the
miles, and before I knew it, I was on Lake Drive. 

   I slowed down to a walking pace and allowed myself to catch my breath. I
told myself that the inexplicable spike in my libido was just a passing
anomaly and by the time I got home, I'd be back to normal. 

   And then, as I walked leisurely down Lake Drive, I tried to cool down my
libido by deliberately taking controlled breaths.  Slowing down my
heartrate and breathing would slow down the throbbing in my loins, right? I
tried thinking calm, boring thoughts as I walked down the lane and it
seemed to be working.  There was a dull ache in my sex, but it no longer
had that insistent throbbing.  I just needed to walk it off. 

   I turned around and began my long walk back home, and then spotted two
women on their way to the beach.  I mean, one of them had a beach towel
draped over her shoulder and they were both wearing two-piece bathing
suits. Also, the beach was only about four blocks away from Lake Drive, so
it was a pretty safe bet that the beach was their destination. 

   The way they were holding hands made me think that they were lesbians.
Gays and lesbians weren't at all unusual in Fairhaven.  I see them pretty
much every day, and don't give them much thought.  They normally just sort
of blend into the background. 

   Except today, my eyes were inextricably drawn to the lesbian couple. 
The bikini bottoms they were wearing were both very revealing.  The one
woman was wearing bikini bottoms with a Brazilian cut, and the other was
wearing a tanga bikini bottom, with ties at the sides.  Both women were
about my age and had high, firm buttocks.  I watched them as they meandered
away from me, and delighted in the way their buttocks moved as they
walked. 

   Why were my eyes hypnotically drawn to their almost-naked buttocks?  I
wasn't a lesbian.  I wasn't into girls, but as they walked towards the
beach, I found my feet taking me in the same direction as the two
bikini-clad women, my gaze shamelessly preoccupied with their shapely rear
ends. 

   And as I followed the young couple towards the beach, and kept my
watchful vigil on their firm thighs and shapely buttocks, I realized that
the throbbing in my sex (which I had just cooled down), was stoked again.
My body was now throbbing with sexual need.  What was this?  Ordinarily, I
had a very low sex drive, but now every young, healthy person I spied on
the street was stirring up my libido, like I was on ecstasy! 



   Just then, it hit me!  It wasn't ecstasy, it was modirall!  Doctor
Khorkina had told me it was a highly experimental drug, and might have side
effects!  My heightened libido was obviously a side effect!  I needed to
get home, and away from all visual stimulation.  With difficulty, I tore my
gaze away from the shapely derrieres in bikini bottoms and began to sprint
back home as fast as my feet could carry me. 

   I made it home in record time, and took the stairs up to my apartment,
rather than taking the elevator.  Once inside the relative safety of my
home, I had no more visual stimulation to provoke my libido, however the
damage had already been done.  I was feverish with lust, my nipples were
hard and erect and my clitoris was throbbing. 

   I was sweaty and panting.  I decided that the best course of action was
to relieve my sexual tension by masturbating in the shower.  I had to peel
my clothes off, as they were soaking wet with perspiration and adhered to
my skin.  And when I was naked, and I caught a look at myself in the
bathroom mirror, I was shocked at what I saw. 

   My face was flushed and my face and upper body were drenched in sweat.
My nipples were more swollen and erect than I had ever seen them before. 
Their color also looked unnaturally dark and vivid, almost red.  My excited
breathing had highlighted my strong stomach muscles, and my breasts rose
and fell in an almost hypnotic manner as I continued to pant. 

   Experimentally, I reached for my nipples and brushed my thumbs back and
forth across them.  It was a gentle motion, but my nipples were so swollen
and inflamed that they ached.  I gasped at the overpowering sensations
caused by such minor physical contact, but I didn't stop manipulating my
pink, swollen nubs.  On the contrary, I began to slowly, incrementally
increase the intensity of my rubbing, causing my nipples to ache all the
more. 

   I let out a long, protracted sigh.  The more I abused my poor nipples,
the more my sex throbbed with hungry spasms.  My nipples still hurt, but it
was a dark, delicious, libidinous kind of pain.  I savored the pain and
made unfamiliar moaning sounds.  The sounds coming from my throat sounded
foreign and exotic.  I had never made sounds like this before. 

   I continued to perspire, however my sweating had nothing to do with
going on a seven-mile run.  It was all about a feverish, sexual fire that
began in my loins and spread out, claiming my breasts, my nipples, my
thighs, my temples, hell, most of my body!  I had never known that a sexual
heat like this was even possible!  I continued to pant as my sex throbbed
with hungry spasms, and an agonizing wave of desire passed through me. 

   "Oh, God," I exclaimed in a passionate, lustful voice I didn't recognize
as my own. 

   Slowly, I allowed my left hand to drift down to the swollen lips of my
vulva, while my right hand continued to grasp and rub at one inflamed,
swollen nipple. 

   The lips of my sex were soaking wet and extraordinarily sensitive to the
touch.  My breathing became ragged and everything below my waist quickened
and I felt a wild wave of dark, delicious desire stab through me.  This was
eroticism on unprecedented level. 

   I changed my stance and spread my feet further apart, feeling more
wanton and libidinous.  I was already naked, but I wanted to feel even more
exposed.  I had the urge to feel raw and unrestrained in my sexuality. 

   I found my poor, swollen clit and stroked it lightly with my thumb.  It
was larger than I'd ever seen it before and was terribly sore, and tender
to the touch.  I inhaled deeply and loudly as I stroked my poor, inflamed
clitoris and an unfamiliar, wicked sexual sensation circulated throughout
my entire body. 

   I gasped at the sinful, erotic wave that washed over me, and I panted as
I mindlessly rolled my swollen nipple between my thumb and forefinger, and
rubbed my aching clitoris, heedless of the pain.  The pleasure was painful,
but the pain was a dark, sexual thrill.  I gasped and moaned and watched
myself in the mirror as I writhed in a shameless, obscene manner and rubbed
my clit and swollen nether lips even more vigorously, causing more
delicious suffering and agonizing delight. 

   There were tears welling in my eyes, and I gasped and moaned at the
sharp, stinging pain, but I was unable to stop tormenting my poor,
defenseless, pink pubic lips or my abused, sensitive nipple.  An
overwhelmingly powerful orgasm had been building up inside of me since
Chandler Park, and it just kept gathering more strength as the morning
progressed.  I couldn't keep the orgasm pent up any longer.  It had to
release it and let it break across my feverish, naked body. 

   What was growing inside of me had become a boiling, overwhelming need.
My hips squirmed in an extraordinarily indecent manner, and then I pinched
my nipple cruelly while vigorously rubbing the inflamed, reddened lips of
my pubic slit and then I watched my reflection through heavy-lidded eyes as
I shuddered and sobbed and the feverish pleasure of my intense orgasm
washed over me, bathing my slender, naked body in a sort of dark, sinful
pleasure that I never knew possible before. 

   My breasts heaved up and down and my abdominal muscles clenched and
tensed and my hips spasmed as I gasped and panted and moaned, as the orgasm
seemed to rip through me over and over again, and I wondered if the intense
sensations would ever stop. 

   I leaned against the bathroom sink and continued to pant.  I was still
covered in sweat and my face was wet with tears, and labia and inner thighs
were soaked with my sexual juices.  Yeah, it seemed to me that somebody had
been planning on taking a shower before they got distracted by their own
reflection in the mirror.  Maybe somebody should step into the shower and
cleaned up right now. 

   In the shower, I ended up cupping my breasts and manipulating my nipples
in between my thumbs and index fingers.  This new sensitivity I had
discovered in my nipples and my clitoris were like a whole new world that I
desperately needed to explore again and again. 

   I ended up fingering myself to two more orgasms while I was in the
shower.  Three orgasms in one day!  That was a record for me!  And it
wasn't even noon yet! 

   Still standing in the shower with the spray of water coming down on my
naked body, I remembered that I made a promise to Chloe.  I had promised
her that I would call her right away if I noticed any side effects from the
modirall. 

   Chloe was a good friend, but after much consideration, I decided to
break my promise to her.  The orgasms that I was experiencing from modirall
were mind-blowing and exquisite.  They were on a whole new level of sexual
pleasure that I had never even suspected was possible!  I couldn't take the
chance that Chloe might pull the plug on my new favorite thing. 

   After I got out of the shower, I toweled dry and began to take advantage
of all the excess energy my new drug was giving me.  I washed all the dirty
dishes in the kitchen sink, put them away and then began to work on the
laundry.  Earlier in the week, Chloe had washed, and dried three loads of
laundry and brought them upstairs from the laundry room.  I took the clean
laundry, and proceeded to put it all on hangers, in drawers or on shelves
in the linen closet, wherever things were supposed to go. 

   It wasn't until after I had finished all of these household chores that
I realized I probably should have gotten dressed first.  Normally people
don't go about doing household chores in the nude. 

   Okay, so this drug gives me lots of energy, hyper-stimulates my libido
and seems to make me forget to put clothes on.  The first one I decided I
could tell Chloe about.  Those other two, I decided to try and conceal from
her. 

   I put on a pair of hip-hugger panties, a bra, and then went into my
closet and grabbed an old pair of skinny jeans and grey t-shirt that was
almost brand new.  It had a V-neck, long sleeves and was a cotton/spandex
mixed weave, so it clung to my skin almost exactly like a leotard.  Years
of ballet classes had caused me to develop a fondness for unitards,
leotards, tights and similar types of apparel. 

   Having gotten myself dressed, I took a long look at myself in the mirror
and checked myself for any telltale signs that I might have a drug problem.
I had stopped panting, I had stopped sweating and my pupils weren't
dilated. Okay, I was pretty certain I could pull it off, and convince Chloe
that I wasn't experiencing any side effects from taking Modirall. 

   I looked at myself in the full-length mirror in my bedroom and checked
for visible signs that might clue my roommate in on the fact I was on a
drug-induced high.  At first glance, I looked normal. 

   I leaned in closer, and studied my eyes.  They didn't look wild or
manic. I pretty much looked like plain old Allison Brand.  After three
powerful orgasms, I seemed to have calmed down somewhat.  Damn!  Were other
people in the drug trials experiencing the same side-effects I was
experiencing?  I wish I had the names and phone numbers of the other people
in the drug trials.  I'd love to talk to them about this. 

   I padded out into the kitchen and got myself a glass of ice water.  The
modirall had a way of driving up my body temperature.  Ice water would help
me cool down somewhat. 

   I'd never bought stock before, but I was considering buying stock in
Brie Incorporated.  It was inevitable that somebody would figure out that
modirall was a powerful aphrodisiac.  When that happened, it was inevitable
that they'd market as a sex drug.  I could see modirall driving up Brie's
stock value by a thousand percent or more. 

   I went over to my computer to do a search on stock investing, when my
phone rang.  I picked it up, and glanced at the screen.  At first, I was
assuming it was Chloe, checking up on me, but it turned out to be Rita
Hanson, my agent. 

   "Hey, Rita," I said cheerfully. 

   "Good morning, Allison," Rita said, even though it was 12:15 in the
afternoon, "I hope I caught you at a good time." 

   "Yeah, what's up?" I asked her. 

   "Erotische Dessous needs models to pose for their new online catalog
that's coming out this Fall," she told me, "Are you interested?" 

   I'd modeled for Erotische Dessous before.  They paid well, and I had a
good working relationship with their photographers, so, of course I said
yes. 

   "They're doing photoshoots all day on Friday, will you be ready to
go?" 

   "Sure," I replied, "Friday sounds fine." 

   "That's only three days away," Rita advised me, "And this is going to be
a lingerie shoot.  You'll be practically naked.  If you've got an ounce of
flab or fat anywhere on your body, you won't be able to hide it underneath
your clothes." 

   "Thanks for the advice, Rita," I said, "But I've got it covered.  Every
inch of my body is toned and firm." 

   "I'm glad to hear it," Rita replied, and then she gave me a time and
address to show up on Friday.  I wrote it all down, and recognized the
address.  It was a photography studio near Augustus Beach.  I'd been there
for photoshoots before.  There were two photographers that worked out of
that studio, and I knew them both. 

   "Friday morning, nine o'clock," I confirmed with Rita, and I assured her
I would be there. 

   I had told Rita a little white lie.  After then days of chronic fatigue
and lying on the couch, I wasn't quite as toned and taut as I used to be. I
needed to spend the next three days toning up my abs and my glutes if I
wanted to look my best.  Rita was right about not being able to hide any
minor physical flaws in a Erotische Dessous photoshoot.  They hired models
like me to pose in thongs, G-strings, V-strings and cheeky panties.  If I
had any flab or cellulite, there'd be no place to hide it. 

   "Three days," I assured myself, after I finished my phone call with
Rita, "I've got time." 

   First, I went on the Internet and created an online trading account. 
Once I finished that, I went searching for Brie Incorporated stock to see
how much it was selling for.  Their stock price was currently at $22.71 per
share.  I put in an order to buy ten shares when the price dropped to
$20.00. 

   I knew nothing about buying stocks, but I felt like I had just made a
smart move.  A drop of $2.71 wasn't much, and if Modirall ever got marketed
by Brie Incorporated as a sex drug, I was pretty sure their stock value
would go up like a rocket. 

   Okay, I got the ball rolling on investing in pharmaceutical stocks, next
I needed to do something about preparing for my lingerie photoshoot. 

   I woman doesn't lose a lot of muscle tone from ten days of inactivity,
but any physical imperfections a woman has would be magnified under the
bright lights of a photography studio, especially if that woman is wearing
nothing but a pushup bra and a lacy V-string panty. 

   I got an exercise mat out of the closet and stripped out of my jeans and
my shirt.  I laid the mat down on the floor and began to do some floor
exercises. 

   I did one-hundred hip thrusts, then one-hundred knee tucks, then fifty
side crunches on my right side and another fifty side crunches on my left
side. 

   I took a short break, got some water to rehydrate, and then went back to
work. 

   I grabbed a bench and some hand weights, and then I started doing
Bulgarian split-squats.  These are really great for toning the thighs, the
calves and the glutes.  After I had done a hundred of these, I set the
weights and the bench aside and went back to doing hip thrusts again. 

   The modirall was giving me tons of endurance and endless energy.  My
muscles were unaccustomed to all this demanding activity after I had spent
almost two weeks lying on the couch, but my cardiovascular endurance was at
an all-time high!  This modirall was great stuff for athletic training!  I
had no desire to stop my exercise routine, or even slow down! 

   I got into a rhythm, working my abs, my calves, my glutes, my obliques
and my thighs, and just enthusiastically kept things going.  I'd
occasionally take a short break to get some bottled water, but then I'd get
right back into my exercise routine again.  I was so deeply into the zone
that I lost all track of time. 

   At one point I was lying on my exercise mat, doing hips thrusts, when
the front door of my apartment opened.  The door had been locked, so
whoever was tampering with the front door must have obtained a key to my
apartment somehow.  I froze in mid-thrust and focused on the space between
the door and the doorjamb, to see who the intruder was that was about to
enter my home unannounced. 

   "Chloe?" I said, when I saw my roommate take a few steps forward into
the apartment, "What are you doing home so early?" 

   "This is the same time I normally get home," Chloe insisted, "What are
you doing?" 

   "I'm toning my glutes and my abs," I replied, "I've got a photoshoot
Friday." 

   Chloe raised an eyebrow and replied, "I was expecting to find you asleep
on the couch, but you're doing floor exercises instead?" 

   "The modirall kicked in," I answered, "Apparently it does everything I'd
hoped it would." 

   Chloe set down her purse and several bags, and then took a few steps
closer.  Her eyes got wider as she got closer, and then I finally got up
off the floor. 

   "I'm fine, I'm totally fine," I protested before Chloe had a chance to
say anything.  I was sounding defensive, but only because I was being
defensive.  I had given Chloe the authority to take my drugs away, but I
didn't want her to exercise that authority. 

   Chloe examined me intently, and I did my best not to look or act like a
drug addict.  I'm guessing that I did a good job, because Chloe finally
relaxed and said, "I brought home Greek lemon chicken for dinner, but you
need to take a shower before you can eat.  You're all sweaty, and I don't
want you sitting on the couch until you're all cleaned up." 

   Chloe didn't need to tell me twice.  I was just glad to have passed
inspection, so I padded barefoot towards the bathroom, intending to take my
third shower of the day, and I heard Chloe's voice calling out to me, "And
put some clothes on before you come back out!  It's really distracting when
you walk around almost-naked like that!" 

   I nodded in agreement, even though Chloe couldn't see me.  Chloe was a
lesbian, and she had broken up with her last girlfriend back in April...or
possibly May.  I forget.  The point is, she hadn't had a valid outlet for
her sexual needs in months, and I was a very attractive woman. 

   Parading around in front of her in nothing but a bra and hip-hugger
panties really was a major distraction.  I'd have to put on something less
revealing when I got out of the shower.  Otherwise it would just be a cruel
tease, showing off the goods that Chloe could never have. 

   I finished my shower hastily, dried off and hunted up some clothes from
my bedroom.  I ended up choosing a soft, comfy pair of pajama pants and a
short-sleeved t-shirt.  When I returned to the living room, I was no longer
sweaty and I was decently covered up. 

   "Hey, did you wash all the dirty dishes while I was at work?" Chloe
asked. 

   "Yeah," I replied as I came closer and scanned the room for the food.  I
knew it was nearby.  I could smell the yummy aroma as I walked into the
room. 

   "Who are you, and what have you done with Allison?" Chloe asked, "The
Allison I know would never wash dirty dishes without me having to nag her
first." 

   I shrugged my shoulders and gave Chloe an ambivalent look. 

   "The modirall gives me lots of energy," I explained, "When I'm on it, I
can't stand sitting around, idle.  I have to be up and active, and doing
stuff.  Is that so bad?" 

   Chloe just gave me an amused look and said, "Are you kidding?  I wish
your doctor put you on modirall years ago." 

   I found the Greek lemon chicken as served up one plate for me and one
plate for Chloe.  My stomach growled indignantly at me, and I realized I
hadn't had anything to eat all day long.  Seriously, I had forgotten to
eat. Who does that?  Apparently, the drug had made me focus so intently on
accomplishing physical tasks like jogging, split-squats, hip thrusts and
washing dishes, that I totally forgot to take time to deal with important
daily rituals like breakfast and lunch. 

   This drug was kind of tricky.  I was going to have to be more careful in
the days to come.  I didn't want to end up suffering from malnutrition
because I forgot to eat. 

   * * * * * 

   "Allison, where are your clothes?" an admonishing voice asked.  It was a
powerful voice that carried across the room and echoed off the walls.  It
was a voice that demanded your attention, no matter what. 

   With a quick glance down, I realized that I was naked and barefoot. 
Ordinarily, when I showed up for a ballet class, I showed up wearing a
black leotard and pointe shoes.  If the studio was too cold when I arrived,
I'd add leg-warmers to my ensemble, however, for reasons I couldn't recall,
I had arrived for ballet class without any clothing whatsoever.  What had I
been thinking? 

   "I must have left them in my locker, ma'am," I replied timidly, and then
I looked up and saw the face of the woman with the powerful voice. 

   It was Terpsichore, goddess of dance and choreography.  I remember years
ago one of my dance instructors had a poster of her up on the wall of her
studio.  I was told that whenever dancers performed on stage, Terpsichore
would be there in spirit, observing the dancers and judging their
performance, but nobody ever warned me that she might show up in a dance
studio when I was doing stretching exercises at the barre! 

   "None of the other students left their clothes in the locker room,"
Terpsichore said reprovingly, "Perhaps you think that you are somehow
better than the other students, perhaps you feel that you're not required
to act in accordance with dress code, even though all of your fellow
students showed up in the requisite leotards, unitards and spandex
tights." 

   I opened my mouth to apologize, however my vocal cords no longer seemed
to work.  My vocal cords felt thick and swollen, and my capabilities of
speech just seemed to abandon me.  Unable to apologize, I used my hands to
cover up my bare breasts and my pubic lips.  I hoped that such a gesture
would be interpreted by the goddess as being contrite and repentant. 

   Terpsichore shook her head as if this gesture was insufficient to repent
for the insult that the dance classroom had suffered by my breach of good
conduct, and imperiously declared, "Since you feel are too good to follow
dance studio etiquette, I'm assuming that you feel your dance skills and
technique are superior to the other students in this room." 

   I attempted to respond to this musing of hers, however, my vocal cords
still wouldn't work, and then Terpsichore snapped at me, "Allison, full
leg extension!" 

   For those of you who don't know, a full leg extension is a very
physically challenging endeavor.  It takes years of training and
conditioning. 

   Fortunately, I'd been training and conditioning my body for ballet even
since I was seven years old.  I'd spent years strengthening my core, years
of stretching exercises, stretching my hamstrings, lengthening my
adductors, and increasing my flexibility to levels that ninety-nine percent
of humanity can only dream of having. 

   With as much grace as I could muster, I stood on my right leg and lifted
my left until my ankle was just an inch away from my face, and my toes were
pointed directly up at the ceiling.  This is an extreme stretch, and I
could feel the strain in my hamstrings and inner-thigh muscles almost
immediately.  If a normal human tried this, they'd pull a groin muscle or
suffer some other horrible injury.  With my years of training, I wasn't
about to injure myself, however I could still feel the strain in my muscles
and tendons. 

   "Very good," Terpsichore said, saying her first kind word since she'd
entered the room, "Your form is perfect." 

   I smiled at the compliment, and then she added, "Show us how long you
can hold yourself in that position." 

   My face froze, and I had to stifle a groan.  Achieving this position at
all is a super-human feat.  Holding it for more than four or five seconds
would be agony.  Already my muscles were beginning to protest being forced
into this unnatural position, and demanding that I stop. 

   However, I wanted Terpsichore's approval, so I ignored the protests from
my straining muscles, and resolved to hold my extension for longer than I
had ever held one before. 

   Several students came forward and crowded around me.  Young males and
females in spandex, sidled forward, to witness my feat of flexibility and
stamina as I held my pose.  Quite a few of them looked impressed. 
Terpsichore's face looked impassive and aloof.  She seemed intent on
humiliating me in front of the entire class, and had no intention of
praising my performance. 

   The strain in my muscles intensified and sweat began to break out upon
my naked body, yet I continued to hold my leg at full extension.  I had
already dissatisfied Terpsichore with my failure to follow the dress code.
I had no intention of allowing her to find reason to disapprove of my
skill, endurance, or dedication as a dancer. 

   Terpsichore was taller than me, and physically impressive.  She was lean
and lithesome, but had well-sculpted muscles visible just beneath her
flawless skin.  She wore a black leotard that was cut very high on the leg,
and I could see a very impressive and erotic groove where the tops of her
thighs were joined to her pelvis. 

   Despite the very arrogant look on her face, I found myself feeling a
deep sexual attraction to her.  What was that all about?  I had never been
attracted to women before.  Why was I feeling this soft, wet pulse in my
sex as Terpsichore closed the distance between us? 

   And just as I was wondering about the answer to that question, it
occurred to me that I was in an exceedingly vulnerable position.  With my
legs so far apart, my pubic lips were very exposed and on display.  Of
course, Terpsichore knew I would be exposing myself like this when she
ordered me to show her my leg extension.  Did she have some sort of sexual
agenda when she ordered me to hold this pose? 

   I whimpered and panted as the strain in my muscles became increasingly
painful, however I didn't break the pose I was holding.  I gazed at
Terpsichore and all my fellow students in defiance.  I wasn't going to be
perceived as weak or neglectful.  I'd dedicated years of my life to this
art and put my body through grueling training and long hours of rehearsals.
I knew myself to be worthy as a dancer. 

   And then, my whole perception of the scene seemed to transform.  I was
still holding my leg at full extension, Terpsichore was still watching, the
students were all watching, but something had changed. 

   Suddenly, I was less interested in gaining Terpsichore's respect, and
more interested in feeling exposed and vulnerable in front of Terpsichore
and a dozen of my peers.  I'd never felt this way before, however, I was
now feeling a deep sexual thrill at being naked, exposed and forced to hold
this difficult and revealing pose for a crowd of onlookers. 

   I felt almost like a naked slave on the auction block, being examined
and evaluated by prospective buyers, my physical attributes being judged.
Being ogled and judged and objectified like that should have left me
feeling angry and offended, however I strangely found my humiliating
circumstance to be very erotic and delicious.  As beads of sweat formed on
my torso and breasts, it seemed that it magically drew the attention of my
fellow students.  Some of them focused on my now-erect and swollen nipples,
and others gazed spellbound at the glistening folds of my swollen labia. 
The most intimate portions of my body were available for them to examine. 

   Being naked and judged and evaluated while I displayed my swollen labia
and held myself in this painfully difficult position for my fellow dance
students caused a confusing and agonizing wave of desire to pass through
me. It was shameful, and humiliating and I was in excruciating pain from
the difficult task I was performing, however the same and the humiliation I
felt was delicious.  In fact; strangely; I found myself wanting the
humiliation to continue. 

   "Summer, her leg is trembling," I heard Terpsichore observe, "Assist her
in holding that position." 

   Summer was one of the female dancers in my class.  I knew her very well.
I considered her to be a friend, however right then she was more a vehicle
of Terpsichore's will than anything else. 

   Summer took hold of my ankle, gently but firmly, and held my leg in
place.  I could practically hear my muscles and tendons screaming their
protests at me as I continued to abuse them, and I tried to explain to
Terpsichore how much pain I was currently enduring.  I was almost drenched
in sweat at this point, and could feel droplets of sweat as they rolled
down the small of my back, and towards my bare buttocks. 

   "I know," Terpsichore explained to me, "However there is one more thing
you must do for me, before you are allowed to reduce the strain on your
overextended muscles." 

   I was about to inquire exactly what else she wanted of me, when she
inclined her head towards mine, and she silenced my words by claiming my
mouth as her own. 

   I was surprised by the sudden kiss, and confused. 

   And then my shock and confusion were washed away in a wave of desire, as
I melted into the kiss.  I murmured into Terpsichore's mouth and
experienced a sudden feeling of heat in my loins.  I had never kissed
another female before, however I found myself delighting in it.  The
feverish feelings of lust that washed over me almost made me forgot about
the agonizing strain in my muscles and I kissed Terpsichore back, reveling
in the softness and perfection of her mouth, and then my lips parted enough
for Terpsichore's tongue to gain entrance to my mouth and our tongues
collided in an erotic joining that hardened my nipples and made my sex
throb with hungry spasms. 

   It was the most delicious and erotic kiss of my life, and I wanted more.
I wanted Terpsichore to own me, to possess me, to make my naked body into
her playground.  I wanted her tongue, her lips and her fingertips to
explore every part of me.  I had never felt erotic desire for another
female before, however, I was unashamed in the erotic desire I felt for
this immortal beauty. 

   And then I gasped as Terpsichore's face changed.  She had broken from
our kiss, and we were both panting and out of breath, and my naked body
shuddered just as Terpsichore's face became smoother, younger and less
intense.  Her eyebrows became thinner.  Her eyes became darker, a sort of a
mix of beautiful coppery brown exploding from the center of the iris, and
an alluring, organic green at the edges. 

   And then, I remember where I had seen eyes like that before.  Chloe had
eyes like that. 

   Suddenly, it wasn't Terpsichore's that I was longing to explore and play
with every inch of my naked body.  It was Chloe that was heating my loins
and rousing my passions.  And with a dozen of my fellow dancers looking on,
I took Chloe's face in my hands and leaned forward to merge her delightful
lips with my own once again. 

   * * * * * 

   Then I opened my eyes wide and found myself wrapped up in my blankets
and lying in my own bed. 

   My heart was beating rapidly, and I was soaking wet between my legs.  My
whole body was bathed in the familiar feelings of post-orgasmic bliss, and
I realized that I had just awoken from a very intense wet dream. 

   I almost never had wet dreams, and up until now I had never had a wet
dream that involved me being sexually attracted to another female.  I had
always defined myself as heterosexual, but that dream had me engaged in a
very passionate, erotic kiss with Chloe. 

   And then I remembered being hypnotized by the sway of that woman's ass
on the beach in her tiny bikini bottoms.  My fascination with her ass
wasn't very heterosexual either. 

   Modirall, I reminded myself.  Modirall was doing things to my sexual
identity.  It was making me more sexual.  It was cranking up my libido to
levels I never even known existed before.  Apparently, gender was no longer
important.  My body wanted sexual release multiple times a day, and it
didn't care where that release came from.  Female lovers were just as
acceptable as male lovers. 

   But, Chloe?  Chloe was my best friend!  Wasn't there some sort of rule
that said you never had sex with your best friend?  I was pretty sure that
was a rule somebody had written down somewhere at some point. 

   * * * * * 

   When Friday morning rolled around, I got up early, got ready for my
photoshoot and arrived about half an hour early. 

   Rita wasn't kidding when she said I'd be nearly naked for this
photoshoot.  Alexi's assistant handed me my first outfit to change into,
and I swear it must have weighed less than an ounce. 

   There was a maroon V-String panty made of imported nylon and lace.  This
sort of panty is known as "butt-floss" and for a very good reason.  It does
absolutely nothing to cover a woman's butt.  There's just a thing strip of
fabric that gets pulled up tight between your ass-cheeks, and leaves your
buttocks completely exposed. 

   And a woman can't wear V-String panties unless she shaves off all of her
pubic hair first.  The tiny strip of fabric that comes down from the
waistband to conceal a woman's pubic lips is so narrow, that pubic hair
will be sticking out from underneath the edges of your garment, unless you
shave it all off. 

   Well, some women prefer waxing or laser-hair removal, but I've always
preferred shaving.  Somehow the idea of stripping naked from the waist down
and spreading my legs wide for some total stranger so she can rip my pubic
hair out by the roots, or burn my pubic hairs off with a laser, just seems
too much like rape.  I've never had the courage to allow a strange woman to
have unlimited access to my vulva, so she can painfully remove the hairs
growing out of the soft, intimate flesh around my labia and anus. 

   "There's no bra," I complained to Alexi's assistant. 

   "You can use your hands to cover up your breasts," she said, "This shoot
is just for the panties.  These first photos will just focus on your body
from the waist down." 

   I think I grumbled something sarcastic at the assistant and went into
the dressing room to change my clothes. 

   For the next shoot, I was given an even smaller pair of V-String
panties. They were black, low-rise and made of nylon/spandex.  There was
even less fabric to cover my vulva on these panties than there were on the
first pair the assistant handed me. 

   The good news was, I got a matching bra to go along with the panties
this time, so I wouldn't have to spend the next shoot constantly using my
arms to cover myself. 

   It was a demi-bra that left my breasts mostly exposed, and it was also a
push-up bra, which meant that it gave my boobs some extra lift for serious
cleavage.  The extra lift and push-up padding added about one and a half
cups sizes to the way my breasts normally looked. 

   Everything I modeled that day followed a very predictable theme.  There
were thongs and V-strings that left my buttocks totally exposed, and just
barely accomplished the task of concealing my pubic lips.  There were also
demi-bras and push-up bras that seemed to do more to call attention to my
breasts, than to conceal my breasts. 

   It would be easy for a model to feel like a whore, posing in these tiny,
almost invisible scraps of fabric, however Alexi was an excellent
photographer, and always built a rapport with his models.  The way he
talked to his models, he made them feel like they were the most desirable
women alive, and that their bodies were works of art.  When you left his
studio, you didn't leave feeling like you were a whore, you left feeling
like Galatea, a semi-divine beauty, carved from ivory by a master-sculptor
and given life by the Goddess Aphrodite. 

   Alexi and I had an excellent working relationship and we both respected
and recognized the skills that the other possessed, however the photoshoot
we had that day seemed different from any of the shoots we had every done
before. 

   "Wow," Alexi exclaimed when we were almost done for the day. 

   "Wow?" I asked. 

   "This is a side I've never seen of you before," Alexi said, "It's like
you're a completely different woman." 

   Alexi's assistant nodded in agreement, but I didn't understand.  What
did he mean by different?  I noticed some admirable definition on my abs
from three days of intensive abdominal exercises, but that shouldn't make
Alexi say I seemed like a completely different woman. 

   "Here, Allison, let me show you something," he said and he took a memory
card from his digital camera and plugged it into a computer on his desk. 

   Within seconds, images of me in skimpy lingerie appeared on the computer
screen.  I'd seen images of me in skimpy lingerie before, and I said so. 

   "Look closer," Alexi said, "Notice anything different?" 

   Alexi scrolled through the photos, and I soon realized what he was
talking about.  The woman in the photos didn't just have a firm, toned
body. She was rawer, wilder and more sexual than I had ever been.  Raw,
sexual need just seemed to radiate from this woman.  She seemed wild and
uninhibited.  She looked like she was going to come right through the
computer screen, pounce on me and rip my clothes off. 

   "Wow," I exclaimed, finally in agreement with Alexi and his assistant. 

   "What's happened to you since the last time we worked together?" Alexi
asked. 

   "Um," I said hesitantly, "My doctor has me on a drug that combats
chronic fatigue syndrome." 

   "Seriously?  That's the only thing that's changed?" Alexi asked. 

   "They ought to market that drug as an aphrodisiac," Alexi's assistant
said, "You look like you're in heat.  I've never seen you like this
before." 

   * * * * * 

   The next evening, Chloe and I had dinner with Hannah.  Hannah is a very
anomalous friend of Chloe's.  Most of Chloe's friends are professional
ballet dancers, aspiring dancers, choreographers or some sort of person
associated with the world of ballet.  However, Hannah was a neurobiologist
with Johnson and Johnson. 

   She's also fourteen years older than Chloe, so in addition to not being
a dancer, there's also a big age difference between Hannah and Chloe.  I
have no idea how these two women became friends.  They seem to have very
little in common. 

   We were eating at I nostri amici, which is one of my favorite
restaurants, however it's prohibitively expensive, so we can't afford to
eat their very often.  We were guests of Hannah this evening, therefore we
wouldn't have to pay anything.  That took the pressure off of us
financially. 

   After the waitress had taken our drink orders, Hannah turned to me and
said, "So, Chloe tells me you're suffering from chronic fatigue
syndrome?" 

   "I was," I said timidly, not realizing that my medical condition was
going to be a topic of conversation, "I'm feeling much better now." 

   "She's taking an experimental drug, developed by one of your
competitors," Chloe added helpfully. 

   "Should you be telling her that?" I asked my roommate, "I mean, won't
Brie Incorporated sue us, if we tell their competition what they're up
to?" 

   Hannah laughed at my suggestion and made a gesture with her hand like
she was swatting my question away. 

   "Allison, dear," she said with an amused smirk on her face," It's no big
secret that Brie is in the process of developing a new chronic fatigue
drug. Pfizer is doing exactly the same thing, so is Johnson and Johnson. 
The only way that Brie would be able to sue you, is if you gave us the
chemical formula that they're using to manufacture their new creation." 

   "Oh," I said, feeling somewhat foolish.  I didn't know much about
corporate law, or the games that pharmaceutical companies played. 

   "I would be curious to know what caused your chronic fatigue," Hannah
said, "Did they check your thyroid?" 

   "Yes," I replied, "And the doctor said that my thyroid was normal." 

   "Hmmm.  What about malnutrition?" she asked. 

   "I learned a lot about nutrition during my years of ballet training," I
told Hannah, "I'm certain I was never malnourished." 

   Hannah was very silent as she considered her next words.  She looked at
me like I was a puzzle that she was eager to solve.  I took a sip of my
water and wondered why my chronic fatigues was so fascinating.  I wasn't
fascinated by it, and it was something that happened to my body. 

   Then she totally took me by surprise by asking me, "When was the last
time you got laid?" 

   I spit my drink out all over the table and gave Hannah an offended look,
then I blurted out the words, "What the hell, Hannah?  What kind of
question is that?" 

   Hannah seemed to be impervious to my outrage and calmly replied, "It's a
fairly simple and straightforward question.  And it's medically
relevant." 

   "Seriously?" I asked, "You think chronic fatigue can be caused by lack
of sex?" 

   Once again, Hannah did the long, silent stare before she said anything,
then she calmly responded, "There are studies that show that lack of sex
can lead to depression and other medical problems.  Sex helps to boost and
strengthen your immune system, while lack of sex can cause psychological
problems that lead to physical manifestations." 

   I raised one eyebrow, and gave Hannah a good, long look before I finally
replied, "I guess the last time I had sex was about three or four years
ago." 

   "Three or four years?" Hannah asked, with genuine outrage. 

   There was a stunned silence on Hannah's part, followed by an analysis
of, "Look, sex produces hormones that beneficial to your emotional health.
After three or four years of neglecting your emotional health, you were
probably suffering from depression.  Depression is a psychological ailment,
but it can lead to physical symptoms.  Did your doctor look at your chronic
fatigue from that angle?" 

   "I was not depressed," I said adamantly objecting to her diagnosis. 

   "Three or four years?" Chloe said, giving me a look of pure horror, "A
good-looking woman like you?  I realize you never brought any guys around
to our apartment, but I always assumed you were hooking up with somebody
somewhere, like maybe one of the photographers that you work with." 

   "Look," I exclaimed loudly, somewhat annoyed that my sex-life (or lack
thereof) had turned into the topic of our dinner discussion, "The last guy
I was with was extraordinarily cute, but he was utterly inept when it came
to lovemaking.  He couldn't find a woman's clitoris with both hands, a map
and a flashlight, and he was utterly unskilled at bringing a woman to an
orgasm.  Every time he took me to bed, he utterly failed to complete the
job.  I mean...he looked amazing naked, but he was useless as a lover.  And
despite the fact that he never once was able to bring me to orgasm, he was
shocked, absolutely shocked when I broke up with him!" 

   And then I got a sudden shock when I heard the voice of our waitress
behind me, saying, "Ooh, I hate guys like that." 

   I made a barely audible whimpering sound when I realized our waitress
had overheard everything I just said.  Wow.  I had just spilled some of the
most intimate details of my life to a total stranger. 

   "I didn't mean to eavesdrop," the waitress said apologetically, "I was
just standing here with your drinks, when you said that." 

   "It's quite alright," Hannah said, "You were just doing your job.  We're
not offended." 

   I was offended, but apparently, my feelings weren't important.  That
Hannah was so arrogant.  She made more money than I did, so her feelings
were more important than mine. 

   "I gave up on men years ago," Hannah offered, while the waitress was
still standing over me, and listening to every word, "If you like, I know
several women at the R&D lab who are currently unattached.  I could
introduce them to you, if you like.  They'd be thrilled to have a chance at
a nummy treat like you." 

   My face grew painfully hot with embarrassment, and I noticed the
waitress giving me a sidelong glance to see how I'd respond to Hannah's
offer. 

   "No thank you," I responded coldly, "I don't think I'm willing to throw
my heterosexuality away just yet." 

   Hannah had a lime daquiri, and Chloe had a Cuba Libre.  I was the
designated driver, so I was just drinking water.  I very rarely drank, and
even had a t-shirt at home with the words, Designated Driver printed on the
front.  I had a friend named Kiko, who had bought me that shirt years ago,
and I hadn't had a sip of alcohol since. 

   Oh, wow.  Was I really as boring as I sounded?  No sex, and no alcohol?
Was I turning into a nun?  Was modirall the only interesting thing about
me? 

   * * * * * 

   The modirall had really amped up my sex drive, and Hannah had made me
feel incredibly self-conscious about my long dry spell since my last lover.
As a result, I decided to make myself seem a lot less like an old maid, and
grab myself a man. 

   All of the male dancers I knew from Ms.  Straff's ballet class had been
exceptionally good-looking, any one of them would do.  I just needed to
track one of them down.  I hadn't seen any of them since I stopped my
ballet training, and didn't know how to contact any of them. 

   Fortunately, my second-best friend in the world did. 

   Kiko had been a student in Ms.  Straff's dance class, and she was far
more social than I've ever been.  I was extraordinarily confident that
she'd kept in touch with all of my former dance-mates.  I pulled out my
iPhone and gave her a call. 

   I allowed Kiko to engage in small talk and pleasantries before I got to
the point.  Kiko liked small talk, and I hadn't seen her since the
Valentine's Day Costume Party in West Hollywood.  She had a lot of things
she wanted to catch me up on. 

   When there was finally a lull in the conversation, I explained that I
was looking to hook up with one of the male dancers from Ms.  Straff's
dance class, and I needed her help in finding them. 

   There was a pause (always a bad sign), and then Kiko explained that she
knew how to get in touch with them, but hooking up would not be easy. 

   Scott had moved to Rhode Island, and was tending bar in a place called
the Cadillac Lounge.  Dylan and Julian were still in California, and had
both been accepted to the same ballet company, however, they had both moved
to San Francisco, which put them hundreds of miles north of me.  Also, they
were now a couple, as in they were now having sex with each other.  It
didn't sound like either one of them would be receptive to having sex with
me. 

   Christopher had moved to London.  Apparently, his parents were both
British, and he was trying to repair his relationship with his estranged
parents. 

   Ms.  Straff's class had been mostly female.  Dylan, Christopher, Julian
and Scott were the only male dancers in the class.  Damn!  I had really
wanted to hook up with one of them, and then throw my active sex life in
Hannah's face. 

   I asked Kiko for suggestions on what to do next, but she didn't have any
quick or easy answers.  However, she did promise to call me, if she came up
with any brilliant ideas.



   Allison's Addiction Ch.  02

   I continued to have wet dreams about Chloe. 

   In one of them, I was naked and on a wooden stage.  A female dressed in
black boots, black jeans and a black t-shirt, held a whip in one hand and
grabbed me by the scalp with the other, she dragged me across the stage my
yanking on my hair and I followed her helplessly. 

   There was a crowd with scores of boisterous, excited people surrounding
the stage.  Nobody explained it to me, but somehow, I knew that this was a
slave auction, and I was there to be bid upon.  And then, the auctioneer
called out to them in a familiar voice: 

   "Lovely naked dancer!  Blonde, with firm, little breasts and dancer's
legs!  And situated on top of those legs, you'll find the most delicious
buttocks to ever grace the female form!" 

   I recognized that voice.  That was Chloe's voice.  Why was my best
friend doing this to me? 

   Before I could ask the question out loud, Chloe yanked my head down,
forcing me to bend over at the waist.  She had maneuvered me so that my
buttocks were facing the crowd, then she kicked my legs apart, thus
presenting my pubic lips to the crowd, in addition to my buttocks. 

   "You won't find a shapelier rear-end than this on any other woman in the
entire state of California!  What am I bid for her?" 

   I heard a loud insistent voice call out a bid for two-thousand dollars.
That person was quickly outbid by another loud voice.  And then a third
voice outbid the second bidder. 

   The bidding stopped at six-thousand dollars, but then Chloe took her
leather whip and smacked me across my bare buttocks several times. CRACK!
CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!! The sharp pain caused me to let out an
agonized scream.  The crowd roared with approval as I wailed and moaned in
pain, and suddenly the bids started to climb again. 

   The way I was being abused, controlled and publicly humiliated should
have outraged me into a blind, red-hot fury, but instead, I found myself
overcome with sexual need, and wanton, feverish desire.  Having my naked
body exposed in public and being abused by my best friend was causing my
sex to throb with hungry spasms, and causing my entire body to be gripped
with an uncommon sexual heat. 

   I was savoring the abuse and the lewd, public exposure of my naked body,
and the bidding continued to rise until they reached sixty-thousand before
they stagnated. 

   "Are you really going to allow a libidinous wench like this to go for a
mere sixty-thousand?" Chloe roared at the crowd, "She is eager to be your
sexual plaything!  Just look at this!!" 

   I was still bent over at the waist and my legs were still spread
indecently wide, and then I felt Chloe's hand reaching between my legs, and
cupping my vulva.  She toyed with my swollen pubic lips, before forcing
them apart and then thrust two fingers inside of me, making me moan. 

   She probed my intimate interior, causing me to squirm my hips and gasp
as she stimulated sensitive nerve-endings within me.  I panted helplessly
as she brought my needy body closer and closer to orgasm, and then I
whimpered miserably, as she withdrew her fingers from my hungry, pulsing
sex. 

   "See how wet she is for you," Chloe cried out, and although I was bent
over and staring at the ground, I somehow knew she was holding up her hand
for the crowd to see how it was soaked with my sexual juices. 

   The crowd went berserk after that, and bids were called out faster than
the auctioneer could confirm them.  Twenty-thousand rapidly because
forty-thousand.  Forty-thousand rapidly became eighty-thousand. 
Eighty-thousand rapidly became one-hundred and twenty-thousand. 

   I was impressed!  I was a very popular commodity, to get such furious
and competitive bidding!  And who called out that winning bid?  Who wanted
me so fervently, that they were willing to pay almost a quarter of a
million dollars? 

   Chloe yanked my head up and I was handed over to the woman who now owned
me.  It turned out that the winning bidder was Hannah Richter, Chloe's
friend who worked at Johnson and Johnson.  How much did they pay her, that
she could afford to bid so much on a naked slave-girl? 

   * * * * * 

   I awoke with a gasp and panted as I slowly recovered from such a
feverishly sexual and emotionally intense dream. 

   I thought it was odd that I would (at the post-pubescent age of
twenty-two) start having wet dreams about someone of my own gender.  I had
gone through my teenage years without once having a wet dream or a sexual
fantasy about another female, and now I was having wet dreams about Chloe
every night.  And why was I getting aroused at the thought of being
helpless, controlled and humiliated?  That had never been a sexual turn-on
of mine before.  Why did the thought of being naked, submissive and
humiliated suddenly stir my loins up into a sexual turmoil? 

   I should have been greatly disturbed by this radical change in my sexual
identity, however the orgasms I was having were so potent and utterly
delicious, I decided not to worry about my changing sexuality. 

   After one of my potent and erotic dreams about Chloe, I would often wake
up with a throbbing, feverish need in my loins, and I'd be unable to fall
to sleep unless I masturbated myself to orgasm.  Invariably, I would think
about Chloe while I squeezed, twisted and pulled on my throbbing nipples
with one hand, and fingered my wet, pulsing sex with the other. 

   It would be around one or two in the morning when I would wake up from
these wet dreams, and Chloe was already heavily on my mind.  Since she was
already a potent force in my subconscious, it was easier to think of her
face, her lips, her voice and her hands when I was awake and dealing with
my sexual needs, than to try and conjure up someone else in my mind as I
masturbated. 

   And, of course, I saw Chloe every day, so remembering everything about
her, was easier than visualizing another person to be the protagonist of my
sexual fantasies.  Chloe was the first person I saw every morning after I
woke up, and the last person I saw in the evening before I went to bed. 
Also, let's be honest, she was a very attractive woman. 

   Of course, I didn't mention any of this to Doctor Khorkina. 

   When I went in to see her for my follow-up visit, I explained how
beneficial the drug had been in rescuing me from chronic fatigue.  I was no
longer lethargic and wasting my life away on the couch.  In truth, I was
bouncy with energy.  I felt like a teenager on the first day of summer
vacation!  I felt like an athlete at the height of her career! 

   "I'm very happy that the modirall has worked so well for you," Doctor
Khorkina said, "I'd like to take you off it for a while and see if you
continue to do well." 

   "Take me off it?" I asked, taken aback, "But, it's saved my life!  It
might just be the best thing that's ever happened to me!  Why take me off
it?" 

   She did that doctor-thing, where she had a stolidly calm disposition,
despite the fact that the person in front of her was a turbulent storm of
emotion. 

   "The manufacturers of modirall never planned on it being taken for long
term use," Doctor Khorkina explained phlegmatically, "It's supposed be used
as a sort of a jumpstart to reset your metabolism, and get your energy
levels back to where they're supposed to be." 

   I really, really didn't want to be taken off this drug, but I also
didn't want to tell Doctor Khorkina the real reasons behind why I craved
this drug so badly. 

   "What if my fatigue comes back?" I asked, although I was far more
concerned about losing the sexual high that I'd been wallowing in. 

   "If it comes back, contact my office immediately," Doctor Khorkina
replied helpfully, "However, it's unlikely that it will resurface.  Thus
far, the modirall has been surprisingly effective at rebooting the
metabolism and getting people back on their feet.  I think you'll be
fine." 

   Fine? I didn't want to be fine! I wanted to be indulging in the most
potent sex drive and the most overwhelming orgasms that a woman had ever
known! Fine wasn't good enough anymore!! 

   I still had a few pills left.  I was hoping that I could come up with a
plan to get more. 

   * * * * * 

   Okay, I wasn't a genius, but I had the bare bones of a plan by 2:30 that
afternoon.  Chloe worked over at the Fairhaven Athletic Center.  Some of
her co-workers were medical doctors.  I was wondering if Chloe could talk
one of the doctors there into supplying me with modirall. 

   I mean...not all doctors will have the same opinions as far as when a
drug is necessary and when it's not, right? 

   Chloe was between clients, and I found her in her office.  That gave us
some privacy, which was fortunate.  I needed to ask her for a favor, and
having her clients and co-workers around would just make things more
complicated and awkward. 

   Having caught her alone, I thought my odds of me getting her cooperation
were excellent, but it didn't turn out that way. 

   "Allison, I love you like a sister," Chloe said, "But this plan isn't
going to work." 

   "What?  Why not? You are friends with these doctors," I said
insistently, "Right?" 

   Chloe shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.  That was a
sign that I was annoying her, so I bit my tongue and tried to rethink what
I was doing.  I was clearly doing something wrong here. 

   "Even if I could talk one of the doctors here into writing prescriptions
for my friends," Chloe began, "Modirall is an experimental drug.  It hasn't
been approved by the FDA yet.  Doctors can't write prescriptions for drugs
like that.  The only reason Doctor Khorkina was able to get you modirall
was because somebody at Brie gave them to her, so she could participate in
testing the drug's effectiveness." 

   "Um," I said, feeling foolish for not spotting this flaw in my plan. 

   "Why is this even so important?" Chloe asked, "If your fatigue returns,
I'm sure Doctor Khorkina will put you back on the modirall." 

   I considered concocting some sort of elaborate lie, but I found I just
couldn't do it.  Chloe was my best friend, and I had already deceived her
too much as it was, so I decided to just come out and tell her the truth. 

   "Okay," I said, my voice heavy with resignation, "I haven't been
entirely honest with you about the effects of modirall.  It actually did
more than just cure my chronic fatigue." 

   Chloe's facial expression didn't noticeably change.  She just sat there
and calmly said, "Go on, I'm listening." 

   "It's also given me a sexual high," I elaborated, "Ever since I started
taking it, I've been feverish with sexual desire.  My nipples have been so
hard and swollen that they ache.  My sex is wet and throbbing, all day and
all night!  I'm masturbating between three and six times a day, and I'm
having the most overwhelming, wonderful orgasms of my life!" 

   Chloe got an amused smirk on her face, and said, "You have got to be
kidding." 

   "No, I'm serious," I insisted, "My libido has gone from beginner-level
to Olympic-gold medalist-level!  And now that I know what the Olympic-gold
medalist-level feels like, I don't want to go back to the beginner level
again!" 

   Chloe raised one eyebrow and asked, "Your pussy is actually wet and
throbbing right now?" 

   "Yes," I blurted out, a lot louder than I initially intended, "Do you
want to check?" 

   Chloe rolled her eyes and held her hands up in a surrender-sort of
gesture, and then replied, "Not here, no.  I could get into trouble if I
got caught feeling you up in my office." 

   Then Chloe sighed and added, "Look, how important is this to you?" 

   "Very important," I responded, perhaps too eagerly, but I was a bundle
of hyper-stimulated nerves at the time, "It's pretty much my chief reason
for living at the moment." 

   "Okay," Chloe said, in a calm, patient voice normally reserved for
reasoning with dangerous psychotics, wielding meat cleavers, "About three
or four years ago, I had a girlfriend named Carrie.  I had her on a very
unorthodox program that had her in a constant state of sexual overload. 
She was just like you.  Her pussy was wet and throbbing all day and all
night.  She didn't masturbate, I kind of had her on an orgasm rationing
system, but when she did have an orgasm, they were so powerful and
overwhelming, she couldn't move afterwards.  She would just sort of twitch
and tremble and make vowel-sounds.  I could put you on a program like that,
if you're willing to consent to me being in complete and total control of
your sex life." 

   "Um," I said again.  Chloe was my best friend.  Consenting to place her
in charge of my sex life would be awkward.  On the other hand, what if she
could do as she advertised?  I remembered her dating a woman named Carrie
some years back.  Did she really have Carrie's pussy wet and throbbing all
day long?  Could she really do that for me? 

   "Look, you don't need to make a decision right now," Chloe said, "Go
back home and think about it.  I've got to get back to work.  I'll see you
tonight.  If you decide not to take me up on my offer, we needn't talk
about this ever again.  I you do want to take me up on my offer, you know
how to find me." 

   I went home and tried to put Chloe's offer out of my mind.  Chloe was my
best friend, and you don't engage in a sexual relationship with your best
friend, right? 

   On the other hand, what she was suggesting sounded dramatically similar
to the content of the erotic dreams I'd been having lately.  I mean...those
dreams were very potent in their eroticism.  What if the reality Chloe was
proposing was just as potent?  Wouldn't a real-world sex life that was that
powerful be worth violating social norms? 

   I grabbed some dirty laundry, and took it downstairs to the laundry
room. Call me crazy, but doing laundry usually helped me to think.  It was
a very nearly mindless task, and my brain seemed to function more
efficiently while my hands worked at loading laundry into machines, pulling
laundry out of machines, and folding it afterwards. 

   My brain broke down the math, and what it came down to was this: 

   1.  I was almost out of modirall. 

   2.  I had grown addicted to the sexual high that modirall gave me. 

   3.  I had no workable plan for getting any more modirall. 

   4.  Chloe claimed to have a program that would give me a sexual high,
very similar to the one I had become addicted to. 

   5.  If I didn't go with Chloe's program, I had no fallback plan to keep
my sexual high going. 

   In the end, I decided that I would go with Chloe's plan.  I didn't know
the specifics of her plan, but she was the smarter of the two of us.  If
she felt it would work, it probably would.  I went back upstairs, put
laundry away and paced back and forth, wondering what Chloe's plan would
entail. 

   Chloe and I take turns getting dinner for the apartment, and I
remembered that tonight was my turn.  I swung into action, hastened my way
to the kitchen, opened up the refrigerator door and took inventory of what
was available to me. 

   "Hmmmmm," I said to myself as I examined my options, and then I decided
to make Southwestern chicken soup.  We had the ingredients, I was skilled
at making it, and both Chloe and I liked it.  This was a plan that would
work. 

   Chloe came home shortly after dinner was ready.  She went directly into
her room and changed her clothes.  She came out wearing yoga pants and a
sweatshirt.  Then she fixed herself a Cuba Libre and sat on the couch.  It
was like she'd completely forgotten the conversation we'd had earlier that
day. 

   "How was your day?" I asked. 

   "Hectic," she replied, "A lot of our clients are idiots.  They want to
be professional athletes and most of them think there's some sort of easy
path to getting there.  They want to be Olympic Gold athletes by the
weekend.  They want to be world famous, but they don't want to put in the
hard work that it takes to get there." 

   Then she looked at me, held up her empty glass and said, "Could you get
me another one of these?" 

   I got her another drink, and I got us each a large bowl of soup.  When
we were both done eating, I cleared away the dishes and we turned on the TV
and watched Orphan Black on Netflix.  Orphan Black is a really well-written
and well-directed TV show, and Tatiana Maslany plays like eight different
characters!  She must be the hardest-working woman in the entertainment
industry! 

   Chloe seemed perfectly content to watch TV and pretend that we had never
had our conversation about the sexual highs that I'd been experiencing on
modirall and the possibility of Chloe putting me on a program that did
almost exactly the same thing.  But I wasn't, and if she wouldn't broach
the subject, I'd just have to bring up the topic myself. 

   "Chloe," I said to her when there was a lull in the storyline on the TV
screen. 

   "Mmm hmm," she replied. 

   "I've decided to take you up your offer," I said, "I want you to put me
on the same program you put Carrie on...the one that had her pussy wet and
throbbing all day, every day." 

   Chloe's attitude immediately changed.  She had been totally relaxed up
until I said that.  Suddenly, she seemed more alert, her eyes more intense,
she paused the episode we had been watching and sat up straight. 

   "Are you sure?" she asked, "I was almost certain you'd never agree to us
doing that." 

   "I'm sure," I said, already beginning to feel a stirring in my loins. 
Just talking about was triggering something in my libido. 

   "What about you?" I asked, "Are you stilling to be my sexual mentor, or
are you backing out?" 

   "Oh no, I'm not backing out," Chloe assured me, "I'm totally willing to
do this.  I just want you to know, that if we go through with this it will
dramatically change our relationship.  If you're not ready and willing for
us to do that, we really shouldn't even get started on it." 

   "Change is good," I replied, "I mean some change is good.  Some change
is bad.  It's up to us to decide which changes are good, and which changes
are bad.  I think this would be a good change." 

   "Okay, she said, "Let's get started.  It's a step-by-step program. 
We'll get to the more complex stuff later, and start with the simpler stuff
for right now.  Take your clothes off." 

   "What?" I asked, not entirely certain that I had heard her correctly. 

   "When I was training Carrie, I kept her naked most of the time.  She was
allowed to put on clothes if she left the apartment, or if her parents came
to visit, but most of the time I insisted on total nudity.  It was an
important part of her training.  If you want me to train you, you're going
to have to be naked most of the time." 

   I could see this was non-negotiable.  I suppose I should have expected
something like this.  If you wanted to keep somebody constantly aroused,
enforced nudity was a good place to start.  Clothing did a lot to protect
your genitals from external stimuli, so they would have to go. 

   Chloe and I had lived together for years, but I think she had only seen
me naked once before, and that was largely an accident.  Divesting myself
of my clothing while she watched me with an intent, deliberate gaze made me
feel self-conscious and awkward.  When I got down to just my panties, I
hesitated.  Chloe was right, doing this would change our relationship, and
sometimes change was scary.  I took a deep breath and my heart beat
painfully loud as I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and
pushed them down.  When they were lying on the floor in a puddle around my
feet, I stood before my roommate, feeling vulnerable and exposed. 



   Suddenly Chloe didn't seem like Chloe anymore.  My sweet, considerate,
accommodating Chloe now had a lean, hungry and predatory look on her face,
like a wolf about to devour a wounded chicken. 

   "Spread your legs," Chloe instructed me, "You told me today, that your
pussy was wet all the time on modirall.  Now, I'm going to check and see if
that's true." 

   I spread my legs, but apparently not far enough for Chloe's tastes. 

   "You can spread them farther than that," Chloe snapped at me, "I've
seen you do a dancer's splits before!  Come on!" 

   So, I spread my legs apart even farther.  I spread them apart
approximately thirty-six inches.  It's not a dancer's split, but trust me,
that's a lot.  Then Chloe instructed me to claps my hands behind the back
of my neck, while she inspected my pussy. 

   The pose she had ordered me to take made me feel very open and
vulnerable, which was what Chloe had been going for.  She seemed to have an
opinion that being naked, open and vulnerable would all translate into
sexual arousal. 

   And while I stood there feeling very naked, exposed and vulnerable,
Chloe reached one hand between my thighs and cupped the glistening, wet
folds of my swollen pubic lips. 

   "You were right," Chloe conceded, "You really are wet." 

   Then she worked my pubic lips apart and thrust one finger inside of me.
Her finger probed deep into my sex, and then stayed there.  I moaned at the
intimate intrusion, and I felt a throbbing in my sex, that was echoed by a
throbbing in my ears. 

   Chloe left her finger deep inside of me as she explained how all of this
was going to work. 

   "Okay, as your sexual mentor, there are a number of rules that I'm going
to expect you to follow.  The first one I've already mentioned.  I expect
you to be nude most of the time.  From now on, I'll expect you to sleep in
the nude.  When it's just the two of us at home, I'll expect you to be
naked.  When I'm at work, and you're home alone, I'll expect you to be
naked.  If I come home from work and catch you wearing any type of
clothing, you'll be punished." 

   "Punished?" I asked, and squirmed my hips reflexively as I felt Chloe's
finger moving around inside of me, "Punished, how?" 

   "Carrie usually got a spanking when I caught her disobeying my rules,"
Chloe replied, "I suppose the same punishment would work with you." 

   I was surprised by her response and let out a feminine
gasp. "Seriously?" I asked, "You would actually spank me?" 

   "I told you our relationship would change if I became your sexual
mentor," Chloe reminded me, "Me inflicting corporal punishment on your bare
bottom would be one of the changes that would have to be instituted.  Do
you want to back out, now that you're finding out what it means to have me
in charge of your training?" 

   I actually considered backing out.  This was far more intense and scary
than I originally anticipated it would be, but the pulsing fire in my loins
wanted Chloe to keep going.  Roller coasters were intense and scary, but
people still waited in long lines to ride them.  My wet throbbing sex had
decided that it wanted to ride this intense and scary roller coaster.  All
that remained was for me to verbally confirm what my pussy wanted. 

   "I'm not backing out," I said, "You have my permission to punish me if I
break the rules." 

   Chloe gave me a wicked smile and then added, "Okay, the second rule is
no masturbation.  From now on you need my permission to have an orgasm,
which means you're not allowed to give them to yourself.  From this point
on, if I catch you fingering your pussy, you'll have to be punished." 

   "Okay," I said, and I realized I was getting excited at the prospect of
being punished for violating Chloe's rules.  I was turning into the
submissive female from my dreams.  Of course, I was still under the
influence of modirall. Everything got me sexually aroused when I was on
modirall.  Would this sort of treatment still get me aroused when I ran out
of the drug? 

   "Third rule," Chloe said, "since I'm sure you'll be tempted to break
rule number two, I'm going to tie you up at night, so your hands can't
reach your crotch.  I did that to Carrie, so no matter how tempted she got,
she couldn't finger herself to orgasm." 

   "Bondage is part of the program?" I asked, amazed that my best friend
would be tying me up. 

   "It's a very important part of the program," Chloe insisted, "If you
can't handle bondage, we may as well abandon the entire project right
now." 

   I almost objected, but then I felt her finger move around inside of me,
and an agonizing wave of desire spread out from my sexual core and took
hold of my entire body.  I writhed and trembled until the delicious
sensation passed, and then I told Chloe I was okay with her tying me up. 

   "Rule number four is that we're going to have to start showering
together," Chloe said, "When Carrie had privacy in the shower, she was
always tempted to masturbate.  I caught her playing with herself six or
seven times before I thought to institute that rule with her." 

   "I guess that makes sense," I said, giving up with right to privacy in
the shower with no argument whatsoever.  It seemed that I had given up my
will entirely, and would agree to anything Chloe asked. 

   "Oh, don't look so distressed," Chloe said to me, "This program will do
exactly what you wanted.  It will give you an Olympic class libido.  Don't
you still want that?" 

   "Of course, I do," I replied, "Ever since I've been on modirall, I've
been introduced to a side of human sexuality I never knew existed before!
It's unbelievably delicious!" 

   "Well, this program will keep that deliciousness going," Chloe assured
me. 

   Chloe had me get a towel before I could sit down on the couch again. 
Now that I was naked, the risks of me getting my sexual juices all of the
couch cushions were very real.  Precautions had to be taken. 

   When I had put my clothes away and had a towel to sit on, Chloe
un-paused out TV program and we began to watch again, although both of us
seemed to be somewhat distracted at this point.  I kept noticing Chloe's
eyes drifting away from the television screen and drifting towards my bare
breasts, or toned thighs.  There was an electric feeling of sexual
excitement and vulnerability as I knew that Chloe could see all of my body
while she herself was fully dressed. 

   Chloe was a lesbian, and enjoyed looking at well-toned, slender female
bodies, especially when they weren't wearing very much.  In public she had
to be very subtle about such voyeurism, however now that she had me
obediently stripping for her and openly displaying my naked body, she
didn't have to be discrete anymore.  She could ogle my naked body quite
openly, and I wouldn't do anything to deter her. 

   Maybe it was the modirall, but I soon found myself luxuriating in the
advantage Chloe had over me.  I was utterly and humiliatingly naked and
Chloe was fully dressed, with her most erogenous body-parts respectably
hidden-away.  It made me feel vulnerable and submissive and exposed, and
something about that made my loins tingle and throb.  I was savoring this
new feeling of being exposed and vulnerable to my best friend. 

   "So, is it just these four rules?" I asked Chloe at some point during
the evening, "Did these four rules really turn Carrie into a throbbing sex
machine, feverish for orgasmic release?" 

   "Oh, it's more involved than that," Chloe replied, as she placed one
hand on my bare thigh, "But I don't want to overwhelm you too much on your
first day.  I'll introduce you to the other rules, when I think you're
ready for them.  The first four rules will do for now." 

   * * * * * * * * 

   When it was time for me to go to bed, Chloe followed me into my room.  I
don't know where she got them from, but she had several lengths of hemp
rope, all coiled up and ready to place her best friend in bondage. 

   Chloe smiled her wicked smile when I gave her an inquisitive look and
said, "I didtell you that I'd have to tie you up at night, remember?" 

   "Okay," I said, feeling utterly and passive and obedient, "How do you
want to do this?" 

   Chloe told me to lie on my back with my arms spread out towards the
edges of the mattress.  I complied with her orders and spread my arms out.
Chloe them proceeded to use two lengths of rope to tie my wrists to the
metal bedframe. 

   When she was certain that I couldn't wriggle free from her rope bondage,
Chloe asked, "How do you feel?" 

   "Helpless," I said, "What if I have to get up to pee in the middle of
the night?" 

   "You'll just have to hold it until morning," she replied, "Good
night". 

   She turned to go, and I responded, "Good night," without complaining
about the way she was treating me. 

   Being naked and helpless while my roommate was fully clothed and had the
freedom to do as she wished, was causing a tumult of sensations in my
loins. Being helpless, exposed and vulnerable seemed to be becoming a huge
turn-on for me.  My beat faster and I felt feverishly hot at the thought of
how much control my roommate now had over me.  It was going to be
frustrating not being able to masturbate, as hyper-stimulated as my libido
was.  I began to rub my bare thighs together in an attempt to relieve some
of the potent sexual tension brewing inside of me. 

   Chloe had been in the process of heading out of my room when she noticed
me rubbing my thighs together.  Apparently, that was an action that didn't
meet with her approval, as she sternly snapped, "Allison!  No!  Stop that
right now!" 

   I had been enjoyed the friction of one smooth thigh rubbing against the
other, but froze as soon as I heard Chloe's voice. 

   "Rubbing your thighs together like that is practically masturbating,"
Chloe said, admonishing me, "Legs far apart! Now!" 

   Once again, I passively acquiesced, and Chloe took her time, tying my
ankles far apart, so it would be impossible to rub them together during the
night. 

   "Now, you're ready for bed," Chloe declared when I was bound
spread-eagle and helpless. 

   She kissed me good night and turned out the lights on her way out.  I
was naked, helpless and aroused.  I was in severe sexual distress, and had
no way of gaining sexual relief. 

   One thing I knew for sure, I was going to have some potent wet dreams
tonight. 

   * * * * * 

   The nurse took me back to an exam room, and the first thing I noticed
about the room was the gynecological examination chair.  It somehow seemed
to dominate the entire room. 

   "Just, take off your clothes," the nurse instructed me, "Then I can
check your weight and take your measurements." 

   Something about the way she was doing things didn't seem like standard
operating procedure to me.  Didn't they usually give you a flimsy gown to
wear before a medical exam like this?  I asked the nurse if I could have a
medical gown, and she told me that there was a new health regulation in the
state of California that phased out medical gowns.  She couldn't give me
one, even if she wanted to. 

   I stripped naked and then allowed the nurse to order me around.  She
ordered me up on the scale, and then wrote down my height and weight.  She
ordered me off the scale, and proceeded to use a cloth tape-measure to
measure the size of my waist, my hips and my breasts.  And to add to my
discomfort, the nurse repeatedly rubbed her tape measure across my nipples
as she tried to measure the size of my breasts.  The mild, yet repetitive
friction of the tape measure across my nipples and areola caused them to
stiffen and become stirred up.  I had no idea why my doctor's office would
need to information like my waist size, or my breast size.  Is any of that
medically relevant? 

   Then she ordered me to sit in the examination chair and to place my legs
in the leg crutch stirrups.  I had already been uncomfortable being naked
in front of the nurse, then she cranked up my level of discomfort by moving
the stirrups further apart, thus forcing me to spread my legs obscenely
wide. 

   "I'm going to have to use some restraints," the nurse informed me, "The
exam doesn't hurt, however a lot of women tend to squirm and use their
hands to try and cover themselves, so it's become standard procedure to
restrain the patient until the exam is over." 

   I mulled that over and wondered when that procedure went into effect.
I had never heard of that being procedure before. 

   Leather straps were buckled around my ankles, and just above my knees.
More leather straps were then buckled around my wrists, which were then
used to secure my wrists to some sort of metal support near the headrest. I
had never felt so naked and exposed in my life, and that's when the doctor
decided to enter the examination room. 

   I felt very vulnerable and humiliated as the doctor walked into the room
and leisurely looked over my defenseless nudity and smiled. 

   "Good morning, I'm Doctor Sobchak," she said in an amicable tone of
voice, "And, how are we today?" 

   When meeting someone for the first time, I traditionally shake hands
with them, however the nurse had left me immobile and helpless by buckling
those damn leather straps around my wrists. 

   "I'm Allison," I replied, squirming uncomfortably, "I'm feeling kinda
helpless and vulnerable the way your nurse has got me fixed." 

   "It's standard procedure," the nurse said, addressing both the doctor
and myself.  She was very bureaucratic and methodical about the whole
thing. It's like she didn't possess any empathy or emotions, but was
capable only of following orders. 

   "Alex is quite correct," Doctor Sobchak assured me, "State regulations
are quite adamant that we restrain all patients before conducting a vaginal
exam.  It's supposedly for your own good." 

   I tried to work it out in my head, how it could be for my own good to be
naked, helpless and exposed like this, but I couldn't quite see the logic
in it.  And while I was contemplating the logistics of how this could
possibly make sense, Doctor Sobchak snapped on some latex gloves, and the
nurse produced a tube of some sort of lubricating gel and squeezed out a
generous blob for the doctor's fingers. 

   She held her fingers near my vulva and said, "Allison, try and scoot
your pelvis forward, more towards me." 

   It wasn't easy to move, the way the nurse had bound me, but I squirmed
my hips and moved my butt forward, as much as I could. 

   "That's a good girl," the doctor said, and then she placed her gloved
fingers on my exposed pubic lips. 

   She spread my swollen inner lips and took her time, feeling around.  She
informed me she was checking for masses.  She wasn't rough, but I felt very
exposed and defenseless as she fingered the most intimate part of my female
anatomy. 

   "Okay, Allison, everything here seems normal," the doctor informed me in
her companionable tone of voice, as she handled my tumescent nether lips,
"But I'm going to need to probe around inside next." 

   She then produced a stainless-steel speculum and the nurse assisted her
in applying generous amounts of lubricant to the medical device. 

   The speculum looked large and intimidating, and I reflexively attempted
to close my legs together.  Of course, the restraints buckled around my
knees and ankles frustrated my efforts to move my legs, even slightly.  I
was utterly helpless and immobilized.  The doctor could do whatever she
wanted to me. 

   Doctor Sobchak fed the cold, metal speculum deep into my vagina and
turned a screw that caused it to open wider.  As the speculum opened wide,
it forced my sex to open wide as well.  As the doctor opened the speculum
wider and wider, I was overcome with a strange feeling.  It wasn't so much
a bad feeling, but I felt open, helpless and exposed. 

   Then, she proceeded to make me feel even more open and exposed by
producing a colposcope, turning on a bright light, and placing one end of
the colposcope into my yawning, wide-open sexual orifice.  She spent about
thirty or forty seconds staring into the most intimate orifice of my body
with her high-tech device, but didn't seem to find anything noteworthy
while she was examining me. 

   She then set the colposcope aside, and removed the speculum from my
overexposed, defenseless pussy.  Initially, I assumed that meant the exam
was over, however Doctor Sobchak had other ideas.  She then inserted two
fingers in me and pressed down on my lower belly quite hard.  She had her
fingers in me longer than the metal instrument.  She moved her fingers
around, told me she was examining my cervix. 

   Her fingers remained inside of me for an extended period.  Her fingers
probed and explored, and left me feeling very uncomfortable, helpless,
violated; and perhaps worst of all; sexually aroused. 

   I tried to hide my arousal, however my body wasn't cooperating in that
effort.  Despite my best efforts to remain quiet, I ended up moaning and
letting out girlish gasps, as Doctor Sobchak's fingertips found sensitive
spots inside of me that responded every time she contacted them. 

   I didn't want to reach sexual climax in my doctor's office, with a
doctor and a nurse watching over me, however it looked as if I had no
choice in the matter.  A powerful orgasm was building deep within my loins,
and the muscles of my vagina spasmed around Doctor Sobchak's fingers as she
probed me. 

   I gasped as another agonizing wave of desire passed through my naked
body, and I squirmed with both sexual desire and embarrassment as my
nipples became visibly swollen and painfully erect. 

   "Almost finished," Doctor Sobchak assured me, and then she removed her
glistening-wet fingers from my throbbing sex, just instants before an
overwhelming orgasm would have ripped through me. 

   I felt feverish and my breathing was ragged and disturbingly loud, but I
had presence of mind enough to ask, "Can I be unstrapped from all this
bondage gear?" 

   "Actually, I'd like for one of my colleagues to examine you first,"
Doctor Sobchak said, "Just stay right there.  I'll go and fetch her." 

   Just stay right there? Where did she think I was going to go?  My
wrists, ankles and knees were all bound with leather restraints!  I
couldn't even get out of this damn gynecologist's chair! 

   Doctor Sobchak left the room, but neglected to close the door behind
her. This meant that any doctor, nurse or patient walking past the
examination room would have ample opportunity to get an eyeful of my naked
body, with my legs spread obscenely wide, and my swollen pubic lips
blatantly on display. 

   At least seven people got a glimpse of me as they walked down the
hallway and passed the examination room.  Several of them slowed down, thus
affording themselves more time to get a better look at me.  I could feel my
face heating with embarrassment as my naked, helpless body was scrutinized
by total strangers. 

   Eventually, Doctor Sobchak returned with her colleague.  I recognized
her almost immediately. 

   "Doctor Khorkina," I said, and I struggled uselessly against the leather
restraints that held my naked body wide-open for her to ogle. 

   "Good morning, Allison," Doctor Khorkina greeted me, "Doctor Sobchak
requested that I take a look at you and substantiate her diagnosis." 

   I was about to ask what sort of diagnosis Doctor Sobchak had made about
me, but then Doctor Khorkina snapped on a latex glove, and within seconds
had her fingers inside of me. 

   I squirmed my hips and made helpless, gasping noises while her fingers
explored deep inside my throbbing sex.  She had a frustrating tendency to
find the most sensitive nerve endings of my sexual core, enflame them to
the point that I was panting and on the edge of orgasm, and then her
fingertips would withdraw. 

   By the time Doctor Khorkina was done with her examination, I was
sweating, feverish and panting with urgent sexual frustration.  And when
Doctor Khorkina spoke, I could barely hear her words, as my heart was
pounding emphatically loud in my ears. 

   "Her arousal levels are at least 226% above the norm for a woman in her
age group," Doctor Khorkina commented. 

   "Do you think it could be Wandering Genital Syndrome?" asked Doctor
Sobchak. 

   "I won't rule it out just yet," Doctor Khorkina said, "But there could
be a more mundane explanation.  Has she been taking addyi, or any sort of
libido-enhancing drugs?" 

   "I haven't prescribed her anything like that." 

   Then Doctor Khorkina turned to me and said, "Allison, have you been
obtaining aphrodisiacs from another source?" 

   I squirmed uneasily at the question.  Modirall had very potent
libido-enhancing qualities, however, I really didn't wish to share that
information with these women.  I was attempting to keep that little fact a
secret. 

   "You look nervous, Allison," Doctor Khorkina observed, "Have you been
completely honest with me about the modirall?  You claimed that it had no
side-effects, but I'm wondering if you've been withholding information." 

   "What?  No! I was totally honest about the way the modirall worked,"
I protested loudly and squirmed even more in my bondage.  My heart sped up
and pounded painfully in my chest at the thought of my deception being
discovered. 

   "She's lying," Doctor Sobchak said aloofly, "I can see it in her
eyes." 

   "I agree," Doctor Khorkina said, "We should contact somebody over at
Brie Pharmaceuticals.  They'll want to take custody, and incarcerate
Allison in their secure testing facility." 

   "Incarcerated?" I asked, feeling panicky and helpless.  Reflexively, I
fought against my bonds, but with no success. 

   "A temporary loss of freedom, dear," Doctor Khorkina responded,
dispassionately, "It's all in the name of science.  They just need to
understand all the effects that this drug is having on you." 

   "Wait!  I want to cooperate! I'll be completely honest with you this
time," I exclaimed with panicked resonance, but Doctor Khorkina and her
medical colleagues seemed to be completely unmoved. 

   "It's too late for that now," the nurse said placidly. 

   "As of this morning, you are the property of Brie Pharmaceuticals,"
Doctor Khorkina said coldly, "You can have your freedom back when they're
done with their research.  I'll call their R&D people when I get back to my
office, and we'll just leave you strapped in that chair until they send
someone over to pick you up." 

   * * * * * 

   When I awoke from the dream, I was naked, my wrists and ankles were
bound, my pussy was throbbing and my pubic lips were soaked with my own
juices.  With some very minor variations, my waking reality was very much
like the dream I had just awoken from. 

   An agonizing wave of desire resonated through my naked body and I
groaned in frustration as my bound hands prevented me from doing anything
to alleviate my sexual distress.  I was suffused with sexual heat, covered
in feverish sweat, and my nipples and heated loins throbbed with an
insistent need.  If I hadn't agreed to be tied up at bedtime, I'd be
fingering myself to a frenzied orgasm right now. 

   My wet sex throbbed with another hungry spasm, and I moaned piteously.
I'd be tied spread-eagle to this bed until Chloe came in to untie me.  I
wasn't sure how much longer I had to wait, however Chloe had prohibited me
from masturbating, so even after I was untied, my sexual distress would
continue. 

   There was a digital clock in my bedroom, but the way Chloe had tied me
to the bed I couldn't raise my head up high enough to read it.  I had no
idea what time it was, or how long I had before Chloe would be showing up
to untie me. 

   * * * * * 

   I was in some sort of locker room.  Locker rooms are built to be
utilitarian, and not stylish.  They all pretty much looked the same.  This
could have been a locker room from my old high school gym class, or from
Miss Straff's ballet class, or from some health club in city a thousand
miles away.  It had lockers, benches and tile floors.  It looked pretty
much like every locker room I had ever seen.  It looked ordinary and
unremarkable. 

   Then, something happened that was very out of the ordinary.  A woman
who was my exact double walked into the room.  She had my face, my body, my
hairstyle and my hair color.  She was even wearing the navy-blue leotard
that I had lost about three years ago.  I really liked that leotard.  It
fit me perfectly, and showed off how highly toned my abs and buttocks were.
And the fabric was such a dark shade of blue, it often looked like it was
black.  I always thought that was kinda cool. 

   "Who are you?" I asked my twin. 

   "I'm Allison Brand," my twin replied, "Just like you." 

   "So, I'm talking to myself?" 

   "That's a crude way of putting it," my twin replied, "but yes, you're
talking to yourself.  Sometimes talking to yourself can be a good thing." 

   "And sometimes talking to yourself can lead people into thinking that
you're crazy," I countered. 

   "And, are you really so insecure that you allow other people's opinions
to control what you do, and how you behave?" my twin asked. 

   I was starting to annoy myself. 

   I also noticed that I was naked.  I reflexively crossed my arms over my
upper torso, concealing my naked breasts from my twin.  She chuckled and
her face got a very amused sort of look. 

   "I have seen them before," she said, "plenty of times." 

   I felt awkward and foolish for hiding my bare breasts from myself, and
then forced myself to relax and lay my arms down at my sides.  The other
Allison seemed to appreciate my change in behavior. 

   "I thought it was a good idea for us to have a little chat," the other
Allison said, "I thought we could talk about your sexual identity." 

   "Thanks, but I already got all the questions about all that answered," I
told my twin, "The modirall is augmenting my sex drive.  It's heightened my
libido so much that I'm being sexually attracted to everyone, even other
females." 

   "Yeah," the other Allison said, "I'm not sure if that's exactly what's
happening here.  Yes, the modirall is heightening your libido, but can any
aphrodisiac; no matter how powerful; turn a straight woman gay?" 

   The question caught me off guard, but I tried to retort, "Sure it can. I
mean, if a person gets hungry enough they'll eat anything!  Starving people
in third world countries have been known to eat locusts and crickets!  Get
somebody in enough sexual distress, and they'll have sex with anybody!" 

   "Maybe," my twin said calmly, "or maybe you've always had latent
homosexual tendencies, and you've been repressing them all these years. 
Maybe modirall is the sort of drug that loosens your inhibitions." 

   "I don't have sexual inhibitions," I insisted, "I live in California. 
Everybody in California is very open and honest about their sexual
identity. Hell, most of my friends are gay!  Why would I be sexually
inhibited?" 

   Then another Allison Brand twin entered the locker room (or would that
be an Allison Brand triplet?) This one was dressed in a white and black
tweed skirt-suit that I had worn to church many times (back in the days
when I used to go to church). 

   "Perhaps because you were raised by a Roman Catholic mother, who was
very outspoken against homosexuality," the tweed-wearing Allison
suggested. 

   "Her mother would have had a shit-fit if her daughter ever came out to
her as gay," the spandex-wearing Allison agreed. 

   "Hey," I exclaimed loudly, "The two of you are ganging up on me! 
That's no fair!" 

   The spandex Allison raised one eyebrow at me and asked, "If you're just
talking to yourself, how could you possibly be getting ganged up on?" 

   Okay, this was getting confusing. 

   "Look, if I were gay, I think I would know it," I said adamantly, "End
of story!" 

   "Actually, there's a lot you left out of that story," the tweed Allison
said, "Your mother was always more concerned with having her daughter
conform, than having her daughter happy.  On some level you must have
sensed that." 

   "And on a subconscious level, you would have almost certainly taken
defensive measures to protect your emotional well-being," the spandex
Allison added, "You could have pushed your Sapphic tendencies down so deep
that even you couldn't find them." 

   "It would have been an ideal way to protect yourself from the
melodramatic temper tantrums that your mother has been known to throw when
she doesn't get her way," the tweed Allison said. 

   "No," I said insistently, "I'm twenty-two years old.  If I were gay, I
would have run across some sort of evidence before now!  You can't hide
something like that from yourself for twenty-two years!  That's almost a
quarter-century!" 

   "Well, you say that," the tweed Allison replied, "But, if you're so
certain that you haven't buried homosexual tendencies somewhere deep inside
your unconscious mind, why don't you drink?" 

   "What?" I said dumbly, the question taking me totally by surprise. 

   "You're twenty-two years old," the tweed Allison reminded me, "You're of
legal drinking age, and your friend Chloe always keeps a bottle of Malibu
rum in the apartment.  She wouldn't mind if you made yourself a cocktail
every now and then.  So, why don't you drink?" 

   "Alcohol is just empty calories," I replied automatically, "Everybody
knows that.  And, I'm a model.  I need to look my best.  I have to watch
what I eat and drink." 

   "Alcohol also causes you to loosen up your inhibitions," the spandex
Allison said, "Maybe you're afraid to find out what sort of person you'd
become if you weren't so inhibited." 

   I opened my mouth to make a counter-argument, but I was kind of stumped.
Other models drank, and they still kept their bellies flat, and their
bodies toned.  They just had to work a little harder to burn off the empty
calories.  Why was I so adamant about always remaining sober?  Why did I
always have to remain so self-controlled and self-disciplined?  What was
that all about?  Was there something I was trying to hide from myself? 

   * * * * * 

   And then, I found myself back in my own bed.  My wrists and ankles were
still bound tightly with ropes, however Chloe was sitting on my bed, so
freedom seemed imminent. 

   "Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Chloe said cheerfully, "We've got a big
day ahead of us." 

   I responded to Chloe's cheerfulness by groaning.  I had just woken up in
severe sexual distress, and Chloe was being all cheerful.  Also, how did
she expect me to rise?  I was tied to the bed! 

   "Well, somebody woke up cranky," Chloe said, and then she proceeded to
untie me. 

   When I was untied, I began to massage the indentations on my skin, where
the ropes had dug into my flesh, and Chloe filled in the peaceful silence
with her enthusiastic words. 

   "Now, we still have seven of those pills left," Chloe said, referring to
my modirall, "We shouldn't waste those, so I'll still give you one of
those, every morning.  They may actually help somewhat during your first
week of training.  Come out into the kitchen, and I'll get you one." 

   I was naked and Chloe was tastefully dressed in a V-neck t-shirt and
yoga leggings.  I felt like our status had dramatically changed.  Me being
naked while she was fully clothed, made me feel like she was above me, like
she was my superior. 

   And something about that made my loins shiver and throb with an
intoxicating thrill.  Did that make sense?  Getting a sexual thrill from
being naked and in the presence of some sort of authority figure or someone
who outranked me didn't make any sense, did it? 

   The more I thought about Chloe being an authority figure that could give
me orders, the more my loins stirred.  I was confused about that.  Why
should I get a sexual thrill from being subordinate to Chloe? 

   I took the pill that Chloe gave me and then she began to lay out the day
for me. 

   "First, we'll shower together," she explained, "Then we'll go over some
of the notes from the training handbook." 

   "Training handbook?" I asked. 

   "Okay, it's just a spiral notebook with some ideas I jotted down," Chloe
admitted, "but I thought training handbook would sound more impressive." 

   Chloe showed me the notebook.  Most of it was blank pages, however there
were at least thirty pages that she had filled in.  She had given a lot of
thought about how she was going to train me. 

   "I woke up early and wrote most of that down this morning," Chloe
explained, "There's a listing of rules I expect you to follow.  I'm working
on a list of punishments for you.  Right now, the only punishments I can
think of are spankings.  Spankings can be humiliating and painful, but they
lack poetry.  I'm trying to come up with ideas with more artistry and
elegance." 

   "Uh huh," I said, feeling somewhat overwhelmed and confused.  Every time
she used words like punishment, spanking or humiliation, I felt a
sudden excitement in my loins.  Why was my body reacting that way?  Did
something about modirall make you crave punishment and humiliation?  Had
any drug in the history of pharmacology ever done that? 

   "I've also been coming up with a list of accomplishments you can do, to
earn yourself orgasms.  I've got a list of seventy labors so far that you
can perform to earn yourself an orgasm." 

   My pussy resonated with an insistent pulse, and I knew I had to see that
list of seventy labors, and perform at least one of them that very
morning. 

   "Let me see that list," I said, urgently. 

   "Not yet, my fledgling student," Chloe said, with a wicked smile, "First
we shower, then I can show you the list." 

   I sighed and allowed Chloe to tell me what to do.  I walked down the
hall towards our bathroom, so we could shower together.  I felt confused,
sexually aroused and a sense of giddy anticipation.  Did anybody else I
knew have a life as complicated and confusing as mine?



   Allison's Addiction Ch.  03

   It had been at least six months since the last time I had seen Chloe
naked, however she had to take off all her clothes for the two of us to
shower together. 

   I know I keep protesting that I'm not gay, but when Chloe was naked, I
couldn't help but admire the quality of her naked body.  She has really
toned calves, and a very firm, well-shaped butt.  She hasn't danced in
years, but she still has legs like a dancer.  She has tight, flat abs and a
narrow waist.  Her whole body is very well put-together.  Chloe caught me
staring at her naked body, and I could feel my face heat up with
embarrassment. 

   "See anything you like?" Chloe asked. 

   "I'm sorry," I responded, "It's the modirall.  Almost everything arouses
me now." 

   "Even your best friend?" Chloe asked, "You know, you've seen me naked
before, but this is the first time I've ever seen you gaze at me with a
look of sexual hunger in your eyes." 

   "It's the modirall," I repeated, and then I remembered the triplet from
my dream asking me if it was really feasible for a drug to change a woman's
sexual orientation.  It was a loaded question, and I wasn't really
comfortable thinking about it too much.  I'd rather just blame the drug,
and not have to think too deeply about the issue. 

   And then Chloe ambled forward and stood dangerously close to me, her
face inches from mine, her thighs and breasts very nearly rubbing against
my thighs and breasts. 

   "In about seven days, you'll be all out of modirall," Chloe informed me.
"Do you think that look of sexual hunger will disappear around that
time?" 

   Chloe didn't wait for my answer.  She just stepped into the shower.  I
had an unobstructed view of her naked buttocks when her back was turned to
me, and there was a soft, wet pulse between my thighs as I admired the
view. Chloe's ass was the most delicious part of her anatomy.  It's was
exquisitely-shaped.  It was sculpted perfection, wrapped in smooth,
flawless skin. 

   Following that thought, I shook my head, as if trying to shake myself
awake from a dream.  I wasn't just ogling my best friend's ass, or was I?
What sort of person would do that to their BFF?  If I were going to stare
fixedly at somebody's naked ass, I was pretty sure it shouldn't be the
shapely ass that belonged to my best friend. 

   I tried to slow down my breathing and restrain my sexual impulses until
after Chloe put her clothes back on, but then she turned around and I
noticed her vulva was very neatly trimmed and shaved.  There was a neat,
manicured landing strip just above her pubic lips, perhaps slightly more
than two inches from top to bottom and less than half an inch wide.  It did
nothing to obscure her pubic lips from my view. 

   "I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not gay", I silently told myself, but I
had a hard time tearing my eyes away from the slightly swollen pubic lips
between Chloe's toned, and perfectly-shaped thighs.  At what point did my
interest in other women's bodies slide over from admiration and into
homosexuality?  I was kind of afraid to ask the question.  If I asked the
question out loud, I might get an answer I didn't like. 

   "Just face me and hold still," Chloe said after we were both in the
shower and the shower curtain completely closed, "I'll do most of the
work." 

   "Most of the work?" I asked, clearly confused. 

   "I'm going to wash you," Chloe announced, "I'm also going to shave your
underarms, your legs and your pubic area." 

   "Wait, wait, wait, hold on," I said, "The agreement was that we shower
together so you can make sure I'm not masturbating in the shower.  You
never said anything about washing me! I should still be able to wash
myself!" 

   Chloe raised one eyebrow at me and said, "It wasn't long after Carrie
and I began showering together, that I began washing her as well.  I think
it made a huge difference in inciting her libido.  If you want to raise
your libido up into the stratosphere, you'll agree to letting me wash you
every day." 

   I ground my teeth and thought about arguing with her.  I was already in
a confusing and awkward state regarding my sexuality, and allowing Chloe to
run her hands all over my naked body would make things
significantly more confusing and awkward, but I eventually backed down
and decided to allow Chloe to do it. 

   "Okay," I said reluctantly, "go ahead." 

   Chloe poured a generous amount of body-wash into one hand, and then
reached out to touch me.  The first area of my anatomy that she intended to
wash my left shoulder.  But even being touched there had a profound effect
on my body.  At her touch, a protracted shiver traversed its way across my
naked skin, and I stifled a gasp.  Dear God!  If I reacted this strongly to
Chloe's hand on my shoulder, how was I going to react when her fingertips
glided across my already-swollen nipples?  I was reevaluating my decision
and considering changing my mind about showering together with Chloe, when
I felt both of Chloe's hands rubbing body-wash into my breasts. 

   My whole body was super-charged with sexual tension and my nerve-endings
were gloriously hypersensitive.  When Chloe's palms, thumbs and fingertips
pressed into my breasts and rubbed aromatic, soapy liquid into my bare
skin, I tried (and failed) to stifle a moan.  My heart sped up, and my
shower with Chloe suddenly resembled one of my erotic dreams. 

   Chloe's hands were magical on my breasts, and suddenly all the nerve
endings in my body responded to her ministrations.  Maybe the magic started
in my breasts and my nipples, but the tingly magic resonated deep within my
loins, my thighs, in the soles of my feet, and even in my face and ears. 
My whole body seemed to be throbbing with excitement and sexual heat.  My
nipples were throbbing, my loins were throbbing, my ears were ringing, and
some parts of my anatomy were so feverishly hot that it felt as if they
were melting. 

   My breathing became embarrassingly labored, making my sexual arousal
blatantly obvious.  Then Chloe proceeded to wash my torso, my buttock, my
legs, and even the soles of my feet. 

   "Oh, God," I exclaimed as Chloe's hands awakened a disturbingly strong
sexual need within me.  Then; making things even more awkward; Chloe
inserted her fingers into the tight seem between my buttocks and proceeded
to soap up the tender flesh of my anus. 

   "Chloe," I protested, "Seriously?" 

   When I had agreed to let Chloe wash me, I hadn't suspected that it would
mean she'd be touching me in such an intimate, tender part of my anatomy. I
was shocked by the presence of her fingers in that hitherto private area. 

   "What?  You think you can't get dirty back there?" Chloe asked in
defense of her intrusion. 

   And it just got worse after that.  Chloe had saved the most intimate
part for last. 

   When she had done a thorough job with the rest of my body, she placed a
hand between my legs and began to lather up my vulva. 

   Even before she touched me there, there had already been a throbbing in
my loins and my pubic lips had already become swollen.  The pharmaceutical
company that manufactured modirall developed it as a drug to combat chronic
fatigue.  They didn't seem to realize that it was a powerful aphrodisiac.
As a result of taking it, I was in a state of constant arousal.  I didn't
need Chloe's fingertips to stroke my labia to get all hot and bothered, and
when her slick fingers stroked my swollen nether lips, it was just
overkill. I moaned and squirmed at Chloe's touch, and I felt feverish with
sexual need. 

   It didn't take long for Chloe's fingers to bring me over the edge.  She
spent perhaps six or seven seconds working aromatic-smelling lotion into my
loins, getting me clean, before a potent orgasm overwhelmed me and reduced
me to a screaming, writhing, shuddering collection of nerve endings. 

   I shook and trembled and panted for several seconds as the orgasm
subsided.  Chloe watched me carefully the whole time and said nothing.  She
just studied me and seemed to take great interest in all my sounds and
motions.  It was almost as if she were a scientist closely monitoring a
research subject in the lab. 

   "Okay, I wasn't expecting you to be so sensitive so early in your
training," Chloe commented when my orgasm finally subsided, "I suppose I'll
have to make some adjustments, and train you slightly differently from the
way I trained Carrie, otherwise you'll be having orgasms all day." 

   * * * * * 

   As part of my training, I had to be naked all day long, while Chloe got
to wear clothes.  It seemed unfair to me, but, from the outset, I have to
admit that I got a sexual charge out of it.  At the same time, I realized
that it was slightly bizarre that being totally naked and exposed while
Chloe was respectably clothed gave me a fluttery, feverish sort of
thrill. 

   Chloe was a lesbian and had a great appreciation for the female anatomy,
especially when it was utterly nude and shamelessly on display.  And with
me being totally naked (even to the point of my pubic hair being shaved
off), Chloe was free to admire my firm breasts, my thighs, my buttocks, and
even my exposed pubic lips. 

   Chloe wasn't shy about staring at my naughty bits while her body was
covered.  It was an unequal situation.  Chloe had me at an unfair
disadvantage, but instead of resenting that disadvantage, I was loving
it. Something about Chloe exploiting my situation was creating a constant
throbbing in my loins. My best friend was sexually objectifying me!  Why
was I getting a sexual thrill from this? 

   Chloe's training regimen involved a lot of physical training that didn't
make sense to me at first.  She had me doing leg exercises, flexibility
exercises and core-strengthening exercises, similar to those I used to do
back when I was a ballet student.  I didn't see what any of this had to do
with strengthening my sex drive. 

   Although I didn't understand it at first, by the second day, I was
starting to get some sort of insight into how it worked.  It was less about
the exercises and more about making myself subordinate to somebody else. 
Being naked and obedient and following all the orders of a fully-clothed,
domineering woman somehow triggered something deep inside of me and
quickened my sex drive. 

   When I had been a ballet dancer, I subordinated myself to choreographers
and took orders from them all day long.  I never got a sexual thrill from
it back then.  Did being naked, while I was ordered around make a huge
difference? 

   I didn't really have any answers, so I just decided to give constant
nudity a chance. 

   "Core stability is important," Chloe reminded me, as she supervised me
and forced me to perform a grueling series of abdominal exercises, "If you
don't have strong muscles in your core, you won't have a solid base for leg
extensions.  In addition, I want to sculpt your body to maximize its appeal
to me and others." 

   I already knew the role that abdominal muscles played in stability. 
Although I had lapsed when I left the world of ballet, I had taken ballet
lessons for years and used to have a ballerina's core strength.  I also
knew the role that they play in creating an attractive image, but a shiver
ran down my spine when Chloe announced her intention to mold my body. 

   Any doubts that I had about what that would entail were dispelled when
Chloe told me to lie on my back with my head and shoulders raised off the
floor while she palpated my belly.  She began by probing the rounded mound
of my tummy just below my belly button and proceeded down the ridge of
muscle that ran from there to my pubis.  As her hands descended, she dug
her finger deep into the muscles that my raised head and shoulders forced
into prominence. 

   Having my taut muscles prised apart was an excruciating experience. 
Flashes of intense pain were accompanied by equally intense erotic
sensations.  When she reached the region just above my pubis and dug her
fingers into the muscles there, I felt a subtle but distinct tug on my
vagina and felt my clitoris emerge from its protective hood.  I never would
have guessed that the pain and pleasure are so closely allied. 

   At the same time that her fingers were penetrating into my belly, her
words were penetrating into my mind.  As she probed them, she told me how
much she looked forward to transforming my body into a work of art that she
could take pride in displaying.  The combination of the pleasure/pain that
she was inflicting and the words that she was speaking had a profound
effect on my psyche.  On the one hand, my rational self resisted the notion
of becoming Chloe's property.  On the other hand, my emotional self
realized that I had a deep emotional need to be her property. 

   I didn't understand exactly what I was going through, however every
nerve ending in my body was alive with sexual stimulation.  I may not have
understood what it all meant, but I wasn't about to give up on the
scrumptious sexual spell Chloe was weaving just because I didn't understand
it.  I was enticed by what she was doing, and decided to stick with it, no
matter what. 

   * * * * * 

   When Monday rolled around, Chloe had to go to work, and I was left at
home all by my lonesome.  Without Chloe to supervise me, I was free to do
what I wanted.  I could have ignored her training regimen and found
something else to do with my time. 

   I considered calling up Carrie and catching up with her.  Chloe had
allegedly put Carrie through the same training that I was currently going
through, and I would've really liked to ask Carrie about that.  When I
objected to an aspect of the training, Chloe was fond of playing the Carrie
card, and making me give in by telling me that certain things worked for
Carrie. 

   But, was it the truth?  Did Carrie really acquiesce to all the things
that I was going through right now?  And did they really work for Carrie? 

   I was going to call Carrie, but just as I found my phone, there was the
telltale click-clack of somebody unlocking the front door to my
apartment. 

   My eyes became glued to the front door and I froze.  Who the hell was
out there?  Chloe had already left for work about an hour earlier.  I hoped
it wasn't building maintenance.  The idea of some middle-aged, overweight
man in dirty work boots eyeing my naked breasts and bare butt sent my heart
into a panicky rapid heartbeat, and I reflexively used my hands to cover my
breasts. 

   My heart rate slowed down somewhat when I saw who it was.  It was
Natasha Sorokko.  She lived in apartment 306, along with her twin brother
and her scary mother.  She and I were friends, although I had never given
her a key to my apartment, so, I was rather confused and suspicious when I
saw her using a key to enter my apartment. 

   "Nat?" I asked, as I watched her enter my apartment and close the door
behind her. 

   "Hi, Allie," she said, her tone cordial, although with a slight
undertone of amusement, "Chloe told me that you'd be naked, but I wasn't
sure if she was serious." 

   I was still using my hands to protect my breasts from being viewed by
Nat's eyes.  My pubic lips were still pretty much on view, but I only had
two hands.  There was only so much I could do to cover up my nudity. 

   "And how did you get a key to my apartment?" I asked, still somewhat
embarrassed that my naked body was being exposed to my eighteen-year old
neighbor. 

   "Chloe gave it to me," Natasha replied, "She said that you were
undergoing some sort of experiment or medical test or something, and that
it wasn't a good idea for you to be alone for too long, and she asked me to
check up on you from time to time." 

   I set my phone down and massaged my temples.  Of course, Chloe would do
something like that!  Because being embarrassed about Chloe seeing me naked
wouldn't be awkward enough.  Chloe was making certain that other people got
to gawk at my naked body as well. 

   "So, what is this experiment about?" Natasha asked, "Chloe wouldn't
explain it to me.  She said it would be better if I asked you about it." 

   I massaged the bridge of my nose and tried to think of something that
didn't sound too weird and humiliating.  I ended up telling her a story
that was pretty close to the truth. 

   "It's a psychological experiment," I explained, "We're studying the
effects of chronic nudity on the human libido." 

   "Cool," she said, with that ambiguous tone that teenagers are so famous
for using, and then she changed the topic and said, "Do you have any
coffee? I didn't get a chance to have any before I came over here, and I'm
feeling really caffeine-deprived." 

   Chloe had made a pot of coffee before she had left for work.  I poured
Natasha a mug, and then I poured a mug for myself. 

   After she had taken a long, slow sip of her coffee, Natasha asked, "So,
how's the experiment going so far?" 

   "Well, my libido is now up in the thermosphere," I replied, "so, you
tell me." 

   Natasha furrowed her brow, and said, "What's a thermosphere?" 

   "Nat, didn't they teach you anything in school?" I asked. 

   Natasha apparently assumed it was a rhetorical question and didn't say
anything in response.  She just stared at me, apparently, expecting me to
answer her question. 

   I set down my coffee mug and gestured with my hands, "Okay," I said,
"here's the ground level.  Above that we have the troposphere.  Above that,
we have the stratosphere.  Above that we have the mesosphere.  And above
the mesosphere, we have the thermosphere." 

   I held my hand at waist level when I mentioned the ground level, and
then I raised my hand several inches higher each time I told Natasha the
name of the next level up.  By the time I got to the thermosphere, my hand
was way above my head. 

   "So, the thermosphere is pretty high up there," Natasha said, phrasing
it as a question. 

   "Yeah, it's pretty high up there," I replied, and picked my coffee mug
back off the kitchen counter. 

   Natasha didn't ogle my naked body the way Chloe did, but I still felt
somewhat uncomfortable being naked in front of her. 

   I felt more comfortable if we talked about something else (anything
else) other than my nudity, so I deliberately tried to steer the
conversation in a non-nudity direction. 

   "So, you and Nathan have graduated from high school," I said, "Will the
two of you being going off to college now?" 

   "Well, one of us will," Natasha said, "My parents can only afford to
send one of us.  Nathan will be attending Pacific University in the
fall." 

   I nodded and took a sip of my coffee.  I found it somewhat suspicious
and unfair that it was the boy who got to have a college education, and the
girl that was forced to go without.  Did they even take any time to think
about it before they made that decision?  Or did they just decide that
males were more suited to higher education than females? 

   Rather than say any of this out loud, I simply asked, "So, does that
mean that you'll be getting a job?" 

   Natasha frowned and took a sip of her coffee.  She seemed uncomfortable
with the question, and I wasn't even certain she was going to answer, but
eventually she got around to it. 

   "Not a job exactly," she said, "I'm getting an internship at Brie
Pharmaceuticals.  It doesn't pay anything, but after my internship is over,
I should be able to get a sales job there.  According to my mom, a
pharmaceutical salesperson can make a lot of money." 

   At the mention of Brie Pharmaceuticals I froze.  Brie pharmaceuticals
was the company that manufactures modirall.  If Natasha was going to be an
intern there, she'd probably have access to the entire building.  If I
asked her nicely, she'd probably be willing to bring some home for me. 



   I was formulating the perfect words to use for my request, when I got a
text message from Chloe. 

   I glanced at my phone.  The text message asked me if I was doing my
abdominal exercises. 

   I sighed and set my phone back down.  I decided that I could ignore
Chloe for a while, and I went back to sipping my coffee. 

   Then Natasha got a text message. 

   Natasha read the message on her phone.  Then she looked at me and said,
"Chloe wants to know if you're doing your ab exercises." 

   "What?" I asked, somewhat taken aback, "You're her spy, now?" 

   Natasha just sort of shrugged. 

   "Just text her back and tell her I'm doing them," I said. 

   Natasha shrugged again, set her coffee down and texted Chloe back.  For
a few seconds my gambit to get Chloe off my back seemed to be working. 
Then, Natasha got another text. 

   "Now, she says she wants me to send her a picture of you doing your ab
exercises." 

   Natasha just looked at me for a while, waiting for me to respond. 
Natasha was a pretty good friend, but she considered Chloe to be a friend
as well.  She wasn't going to lie to Chloe forever for me.  Natasha's face
wasn't even remotely hostile, however, if I didn't start doing ab exercises
soon, Natasha was certain to text Chloe back and tell her I wasn't doing
them. 

   I let out a heavy sigh, went over to my exercise mat and started doing
hip thrusts.  Natasha took a few pictures of me as I exercised my core
muscles and sent them off to Chloe.  After doing a hundred reps, I asked
Natasha if I could stop. 

   "Chloe says that if you stop, I have to text her back and let her know
that you're slacking." 

   "Gee, thanks a lot, Nat," I said, and then went back to work. 

   "Chloe says that it's all part of your experiment," Natasha retorted, "I
don't quite understand how this experiment works, but I don't want the
results to be corrupted.  You'd probably have to start all over again from
the beginning." 

   After thirty minutes of hip thrusts, I then was instructed by text to do
ballet twists.  Natasha took photos of me again and sent the photos to
Chloe.  After an hour or so I took a break.  Then I was instructed to start
doing some plank exercises.  To my surprise and chagrin, Natasha came over
and ran her hands along my bowed body while I held it off the floor. 
Sensing my surprise at her tactile examination of my body, she explained
that she was only following Chloe's instructions to make sure that I was
performing my exercises correctly. 

   Natasha kept taking photos of me and sending the photos to Chloe.  At
some point it dawned on me that Natasha and Chloe now had a collection of
nude photos of me on their phones.  What were they going to do with those
photos?  Who was going to see them? 

   Natasha stuck around for hours.  By the time she left, I was slick with
sweat, my abs sore, and Natasha had about sixty or seventy nude photos of
me on her phone.  I groaned when I got up from the floor and wondered if
all of this was worth it. 

   * * * * * 

   When Chloe got home I was still naked.  The new rules meant that I had
to be naked 24-hours a day, seven days a week.  The only time I could wear
clothes, was if I left the apartment. 

   Chloe's eyes traveled across my naked body, taking in my sore abs, my
exposed pubic lips, my dancer's legs and my bare breasts with my erect,
chronically stimulated nipples.  Somehow, her hungry gaze made me feel even
more aroused.  I was somewhat confused by that.  Was my arousal brought on
by some sort of hidden fetish buried deep within my subconscious or was it
due to the chemicals of the modirall effecting my limbic system? 

   Well, I only had enough modirall to last a few more days, so I guessed
I'd be finding out soon enough. 

   Unless Natasha could get me some more. 

   I filed that idea away for later, and asked why Natasha had a key to our
apartment in the first place. 

   "So, Nat says that you gave her a key to the apartment," I accused. 

   "Of course," Chloe said, seemingly oblivious to my disapproval, "I can't
be here twenty-four hours a day, and if I left you alone, you'd be tempted
to break the rules.  You'd start wearing clothes or masturbating or
something.  It seemed to make sense that I make a few extra keys and hand
them out to a few friends and ask that they check up on you from time to
time." 

   I plucked a few important key words out of Chloe's response and then
said, "Wait!  Keys?  Friends? As in plural? As in more than one?" 

   Chloe raised an eyebrow at me and then went into the kitchen and began
preparations for dinner.  I followed her into the kitchen and then she
replied, "Yes, keys plural.  Obviously, I gave one to Nat.  She told you
about that this morning.  However, I also gave one to Amy.  I had a couple
more made, and I'll be giving those to Summer and Hannah." 

   I didn't really like Hannah; however, I didn't mention that out loud. 
Instead I said, "Who the hell is Amy?" 

   "Amy Laughlin," Chloe elaborated, "She lives just down the hall in
apartment 420." 

   I took a few seconds to think about that.  Chloe's answer had jogged my
memory a little bit.  Amy Laughlin was a high school teacher.  She didn't
work during the Summer, so she'd have a great deal of time to come over and
supervise me until the schools reopened. 

   I barely knew Amy.  I'd seen her in the lobby before, and I'd passed her
in the hallway a few times, but we weren't friends.  I was surprised that
Chloe would give her a key to our apartment and tell her to come over and
supervise me while I was stark naked. 

   "Amy isn't a friend," I protested, "We barely know her." 

   "Oh, I've talked to her a few times," Chloe countered, "She's divorced,
her ex-husband is a jerk, she's thirty years old, her father is a detective
with the Fairhaven Police Department, she's a huge fan of Laurell K. 
Hamilton, and she voted for Hillary Clinton in the last election.  She
thinks that public school teachers are underpaid, and she hates Betsy
DeVos." 

   I blinked a few times while I formulated how to respond.  I didn't
realize how much time Chloe had spent with our neighbor.  Apparently, I had
missed a few details in Chloe's life. 

   "Um, okay," I finally said, "It sounds like you know her well, but
she's still little more than a stranger to me." 

   Chloe waved her hand dismissively and said, "Oh, I think you'll get to
like her.  Just give her a chance.  She's good people." 

   I rolled my eyes but didn't argue.  Arguing with Chloe was like trying
to sprint up an avalanche.  You could put in a great deal of effort trying,
but the result was usually extreme exhaustion and abject failure.  I opted
to just skip the extreme effort and the severe exhaustion and surrendered
to failure right away. 

   I gave up arguing, but I knew this was going to be degrading for me. 
Chloe and Natasha were friends of mine and walking around naked in front of
them was humiliating enough.  Being naked and exposed in front of a virtual
stranger was going to be even more emotionally crushing. 

   There was a soft, wet throb in my loins as I thought about my naked body
being on display for Amy.  What was happening to me?  Where were these
feelings coming from?  I didn't ask for them, and now here I was, facing
the humiliating prospect of exposing the most intimate parts of my anatomy
to a middle-aged school teacher, and I was getting a dark, libidinous
thrill somewhere deep down inside my groin. 

   These thoughts made me confused and uncomfortable.  Getting a sexual
thrill from having my naked body placed on display for friends and
strangers was known as exhibitionism.  It was a sexual kink.  I had never
been into anything kinky before.  Why was kinky stuff becoming part of the
equation now? 

   I tried to erase all these thoughts from my head and focus on something
else. 

   "So, did you hear that Nat has an internship with Brie Pharmaceuticals?"
I asked. 

   Then came my follow up question, "If I asked her very nicely, do you
think I could get her to steal about four weeks' worth of modirall and
bring it over here?" 

   It seemed like a good idea to me, but Chloe had different ideas. 

   "Absolutely not," Chloe replied, "In fact, it'd be best if you never
even brought the subject up with her." 

   "I'm not so sure," I ventured, "I mean, if she's and intern, they'll
likely introduce her to everyone that works there, and acquaint her with
every department.  Wherever they keep the modirall, Nat will almost
certainly see it." 

   "Allison," Chloe snapped, sounding quite displeased, "Nat has been
handed a great opportunity with this internship!  And if she gets caught
stealing drugs from Brie pharmaceuticals, it's an opportunity that's going
to blow up in her face!  If you talk Nat into stealing from them, and she
gets into trouble because of you, I'll have to punish you for it." 

   "Punish?" I asked, "You mean like, you'd-?" 

   "I'd punish you," Chloe said, cutting me off in mid-sentence, "Never
mind how, but I'd punish you severely.  So, don't screw up Nat's
internship, and you won't have to find out just how unpleasant a punishment
from your sexual trainer could be." 

   * * * * * 

   I had four or five wet dreams that night, but the one that I remember
the most vividly was the one that dealt with Chloe's promise to punish me
if I screwed up Natasha's internship. 

   In my dream, two tall, stern-looking women ordered me to strip.  They
had guns, badges and were wearing grey and black uniforms.  They claimed to
be bailiffs and informed me that I needed to be strip-searched. 

   I was stripped naked, thoroughly and intimately probed and examined,
however, they found no contraband on me.  Then, one of the tall, strong
women took me by the arm and led me into a courtroom.  Chloe was sitting
high above me in the judge's seat.  There were twelve men and women in the
juror's box, looking me up and down appreciatively.  There was even a
stenographer who gave me a long, lingering look.  Of course, I was naked.
It seems that I'm always naked these days. 

   "The accused is here," Chloe said after I was ushered inside, "The trial
of Allison Brand can now begin.  The accused will place her hands behind
the back of her neck." 

   I obeyed without even thinking.  It seemed that independent thought
wasn't even an option.  I just did as I was told, as if my body existed
only to obey Chloe's commands. 

   "Elbows back," Chloe ordered with stern authority, "breasts thrust
forward, legs spread wide, wider! That's better!  Now, the accused will
maintain that pose until the jury has reached a verdict." 

   "Yes, your honor," I replied to Chloe.  I was naked and being ordered
about like a disobedient slave, however I didn't feel outraged at the way I
was being treated.  Somehow it felt acceptable and normal that Chloe was
treating me this way.  I felt no urge to ask for leniency or mercy. 

   Hannah Richter was the prosecuting attorney.  She jumped right into her
role of painting me as guilty as a cat caught in a goldfish bowl. 

   "Nat, why you tell us how things worked out when you attempted to steal
experimental drugs from Brie Pharmaceuticals?" Hannah prompted.  A quick
glance to the left of Hannah showed me that Natasha Sorokko was sitting in
the witness box. 

   "I got caught with about three-dozen pills in my purse," Natasha
explained, "I talked them out of pressing criminal charges, however, I've
lost my internship, and I'm banned from ever setting foot in their
corporate offices ever again." 

   "She lost her internship," Hannah reiterated to the jury, "And now she's
banned from every working at Brie Pharmaceuticals.  Such a black mark will
not look good on Ms.  Sorokko's resume." 

   Hannah continued to ask Natasha questions.  Of course, she asked
Natasha why she was stealing drugs from Brie Pharmaceuticals.  And
Natasha readily answered that it was my corrupting influence that led her
astray and compelled her to break the law. 

   I noticed that whenever Hannah wasn't directly addressing the jury, or
directly asking Natasha a question, she would allow her gaze to drift back
towards me.  She would look my naked body up and down as if she were
auditing all my naked charms. 

   I also noticed that a female juror with an oval face and high cheekbones
kept staring in my direction.  She gave me a look like I was the most
delicious thing on the menu, and she just wanted to eat me up. 

   Both of these women were objectifying me with the way that they openly
stared at my exposed pubic lips and my naked breasts.  It was humiliating
the way they fixedly focused their gazes on the most intimate parts of my
anatomy, and I felt my face burn hot with mortification, however, I also
felt a shiver of excitement run through me at the way I was being debased
and abused. 

   I was naked and helplessly on display, and these women were taking
advantage of me by ogling my helpless nudity.  Why did their bold
appraising looks excite me so?  Why did the wet throb in my loins become so
much more intense every time one of these women fixed their smoldering gaze
of my helplessly exposed naked body? 

   When Hannah was done questioning Natasha, another witness was called to
testify against me, and I was forced to stand naked with my genitals
indecently on display the entire time Hannah questioned her.  And when
Hannah was finished building her case for my guilt, the judge then
announced that it was time for the jury to render a verdict. 

   "Wait," I exclaimed, sounding panicky and frightened, "Isn't there a
lawyer here to defend me?  Hannah was the prosecuting attorney, where's the
defense attorney?" 

   "Oh, that," the judge said, as if the idea of having a defending
attorney at a trial was an obscure notion, "I discovered that when I allow
the defendant to have an attorney, it makes these trials drag
on forever. The prosecuting attorney and the defense attorney
spend hours arguing and trying to poke holes in each other's arguments.
Without defense attorneys slowing things down, I can usually get six or
seven court cases dealt with before lunch." 

   "Wait!  What?" I exclaimed, "How is that fair?" 

   Chloe made a dismissive noise and replied, "Fair? I don't care if it's
fair or not.  I care about making sure I don't have a backlog of cases. 
Getting rid of the damn defense lawyers has sure made my life easier.  And
the jurors seem to like it too." 

   Several of the jurors murmured in agreement.  A few of them nodded in
seeming approval of this unfair, yet, more efficient system. 

   I was forced to stand there naked, with my legs far apart, and my
swollen labia exposed while the judge, jury and prosecuting attorney
praised this unfair system.  Then the jury then proceeded to vote on the
verdict.  They didn't even go into a separate room, they just discussed the
merits of the case right in front of me. 

   The judge was correct.  Without a defense attorney trials can conclude
very rapidly.  The jury found me guilty within less than two minutes. 

   "Allison Brand," the judge said officiously, "this court finds you
guilty of the crime of ruining Natasha Sorokko's future employment
prospects.  If not for your bad influence, she might have had a productive
career in the pharmaceutical industry, earning hundreds of thousands of
dollars, plus retirement benefits.  Now, she has nothing." 

   "I'm sorry," I protested, "I really, really am!" 

   "Silence," the judge admonished me, "I'm still talking." 

   Then she proceeded to sentence me. 

   "You should get at least twenty years in prison for this," Judge Dechert
opined, "however, our prisons are already overcrowded.  I am therefore
sentencing you to an over the knee spanking of forty-seven swats, to be
administered by Ms.  Santino." 

   Apparently Ms.  Santino was one of the courtroom bailiffs.  She stepped
forward and escorted me to an old, wooden chair that had been placed near
the jury box.  Once she was seated in her chair, I was prompted to lie
across her lap and place my palms flat upon the floor. 

   "Wait," Natasha protested, "Why does the bailiff get to spank her?  I'm
the injured party!  Shouldn't I be the one to punish her?" 

   I moaned at the thought of being publicly spanked by my teenage
neighbor. Somehow having my bare ass spanked by Natasha felt more shameful
and humiliating than being spanked by dispassionate, phlegmatic employee of
the state. 

   "Ms.  Santino is a trained professional," Judge Dechert explained
impassively, "She's punished hundreds of naked defendants.  She knows what
she's doing.  You may be the wounded party, however, you're also
inexperienced and too emotionally involved in this case to do a
professional job of meting out Ms.  Brand's punishment." 

   Natasha argued passionately with the judge.  Eventually, Nat managed to
convince Judge Dechert to alter my sentence.  My sentence was changed to a
spanking of eighty swats, with Ms.  Santino delivering the first forty
swats, and Nat delivering the last forty. 

   Before my punishment began, I noticed that the court stenographer had
stopped typing and was clearly checking me out.  I felt my face grow red
hot with embarrassment.  I was in a vulnerable position, with my bare butt
raised high in the air, ready to be victimized by the bailiff's stinging
right hand, and the stenographer's eyes were running up and down my naked
body like I was the most delicious thing her young eyes had ever beheld. 

   She licked her soft, moist lips and stared at me with rapt attention,
clearly enjoying the view.  I felt that her blatant interest in my naked
body was inappropriate, however, I said nothing. 

   Full disclosure, even worse than saying nothing was the way I felt when
the stenographer fixedly gazed at my naked body with obvious lust.  I got a
funny feeling in my stomach, there was a stirring in my lower parts, and
there was a familiar throbbing in my clit. 

   I've always been a proper young lady.  I've never exposed my nude body
in public.  I've never even done nude modeling before, and believe me, I've
had offers! 

   And yet, I found myself having a very improper stirring in my loins as
this young stenographer took advantage of my situation and ogled my naked
body.  Why would being ogled by strangers stir up my libido in this way?  I
found the whole situation to be confusing and disturbing. 

   "This is going to hurt, Ms.  Brand," the bailiff informed me as she
readied her right hand to begin assaulting my bare buttocks.  My entire
body tensed up and I held my breath as I awaited my fate. 

   The sharp and daunting slaps that rained down on my poor bottom were far
more painful than I had anticipated.  I gasped, and one of my hands
reflexively found itself raised up off the floor and shoved into a
protective posture over my bottom. 

   "Using your hands to protect yourself is against the law," the judge
informed me. 

   Then to the bailiff she said, "bind her wrists and add another ten swats
to her punishment." 

   My wrists were soon locked in stainless steel handcuffs and my
punishment began again.  A quick glance at the stenographer revealed that
she was enjoying the show.  I couldn't see the jury from my position over
the bailiff's lap, but I supposed that they were enjoying the show as
well. 

   I couldn't see my bottom, however, I assumed it was turning red.  It
stung fiercely as the pitiless bailiff mercilessly and efficiently rained
down stinging smacks on my bare flesh.  I squirmed across the bailiff's lap
and cried out each time my innocent bottom was struck by strong, relentless
hands. 

   Tears welled up in my eyes, making it difficult to see, however, I did
happen to notice that the stenographer was still inspecting my naked body
with blatantly prurient interest.  The way she was looking at me made my
heart beat faster and the throbbing in my loins increased.  My public
humiliation and physical torment had somehow stirred up my libido, however,
it was the carnal way that the cute stenographer surveyed my naked body
that really drove my sexual passion over the edge and drove me to a
resounding climax. 

   And while the judge, the jury, the stenographer and my teenage neighbor
all watched, my orgasm built in intensity inside of me until I screamed in
resounding, emphatic, lusty climax. 

   * * * * * 

   When I woke up from the dream my chest was heaving and I could feel
beads of sweat on my bare skin.  I was awash in the glorious post-orgasmic
afterglow and allowed that wonderful feeling to permeate every fiber of my
being. 

   My dreams of gaining erotic fulfillment by being naked, helpless,
humiliated and punished were still confusing, however, I was becoming less
and less disturbed by them.  The feelings of such intense satisfaction deep
within my sexual core were deliciously erotic.  I'd never gotten such
extraordinary satisfaction from any of the sexual encounters than I'd ever
had with any of the men from my sexual past. 

   I was starting to come to the realization that my wet dreams of forced
nudity, submission, delicious humiliation and sweet shame were always going
to be more potent and more enjoyable than anything I'd ever enjoy in the
real world.