Part IV: The Results
Andrea soon lost count of the days. Her world consisted entirely of black, green, yellow
and red: solitude, pleasure, frustration and pain. Eventually, the muscles in her thighs
adapted to being stretched into the full splits 24 hours a day. The soreness subsided, and
the lack of that particular sensation made the periods of darkness seem even more like a
sensory deprivation tank.
When she wasn't being stimulated or tortured, Andrea found herself more and more fre-
quently becoming completely lost in hallucinations, detached from the world. Her reveries
were periodically disrupted by the appearance of a light and a session with the corre-
sponding devices, but as soon as the machine left her alone again, she would slip once
more into her fantasy world.
Occasionally, she would come back to her senses temporarily. At one point, she noticed
that her crotch was feeling a bit prickly whenever the machine touched it. She deduced
that her pubic hair was growing back. The next morning (or was it the one after? She
wasn't sure...), Andrea awoke to find the prickliness gone; she was as smooth as the first
day she had found herself in the machine. She guessed that someone, possibly Dr.
Ridgewell, had removed her from the machine while she slept to shave her again. Her
legs felt fairly smooth against the padded surface to which they were secured, so they
must have shaved them as well. The machine lacked the usual smell of sweat and female
arousal that it usually had, so she and it had probably been washed.
She still had enough of her reason intact to realize that this could present an avenue of
escape. She decided that the next time she began to feel prickly, she'd try to stay awake
while pretending to be asleep. When the time came, she closed her eyes and faked slum-
ber, as she had planned. Almost immediately, she felt herself drifting off to sleep. She bit
her lip quite hard, hoping the pain would keep her awake.
The beeping awoke Andrea from her sleep. She'd fallen asleep despite herself. She
struggled in the bonds, attempting to wiggle her hips. They moved less than a millimeter,
but it was enough for her to realize that the stubble had been removed. There was no way
she could have fallen asleep that quickly, especially if she was trying not to. The machine
must be giving her some sort of sedative through the IV, whenever it decided that it was
"bed time." Her faint hope dashed to pieces, Andrea felt a sense of despair she hadn't felt
since the first few days. A single tear trickled down her cheek. When the red light went on,
her gentle weeping turned to outright sobbing. Five minutes later, she was screaming.
As bad as the torture sessions were, Andrea found herself dreading the frustrations
brought on by the yellow light even more. Pain has a numbing effect. After the first few
minutes of twisted nipples and stretched clit, Andrea usually began to feel like she was
someone else. She'd feel the pain as if from a great distance, hear her own screams as if
they were muffled behind a thick wall. She'd forget where she was, sometimes even start
to hallucinate again. But the yellow light device, bringing her right up to the verge of climax
before dropping her down again and forcing her up that maddening ascent once more...
THAT she couldn't bear. It kept her in the present, acutely aware of the manacles which
prevented her from moving, of the machine moving and vibrating inside her. Never did she
feel more helpless than with the yellow light shining in her eyes.
At first, the yellow light was always proceeded by the green light. After the first few weeks,
however, this changed. Sometimes it would be followed by the red light, sometimes by
sleep. Once, she got a yellow light first thing in the morning, and it went on all day until
she was put to sleep by the machine. The next morning, she was left in darkness for
nearly an hour, still horny from the previous day's maddening experience. When the light
went on, it was neither green nor red, but yellow again, and at that moment, something
snapped in Andrea's mind.
After that, Andrea had no idea who or where she was. She had no recollection of her pre-
vious life, no concept of escape, no idea that there was even an outside world to escape
to. Her mind had reverted to a completely animalistic state, and she only knew three
things: green meant pleasure, red meant pain, yellow meant frustration.
Time passed. It might have been weeks, or months... maybe even over a year. By the end
of it, Andrea was screaming when the red light went on, seemingly in agony before the
torture devices even went to work. When the yellow light went on, she squirmed in her
restraints and became wet almost immediately. Most startlingly, she began to have or-
gasms whenever the green light went on, screaming in lust before the vibrating device had
whirred into action.
At then, one morning, Andrea awoke to a white light. White? Her concious mind, beaten
into submission so long ago, slowly began to grind into action once more. What did white
mean? After several minutes, she decided that she'd definitely never seen white light be-
fore.
It was several minutes before her concious mind was working well enough for her to real-
ize that she could no longer feel the manacles holding every part of her body down. She
wiggled her fingers experimentally. They moved just fine. Unaccustomed to having any
sort of freedom, she wasn't sure what to do.
Soon, her eyes learned how to focus again. She realized that she was lying on her back
on a table, staring up at a fluorescent light. Looking around, she found that she was in
some sort of small warehouse. She was still naked and shaved, but the electrodes that
had been stimulating her muscles had been removed, as had the IV. There was still a
small red mark on her right arm where it had been. On a smaller table next to the one she
was lying on, she could see her clothes. She didn't recognize them, but would eventually
realize that they were the same ones she had worn on the day of her capture. Beside the
table was a small refrigerator.
She attempted to stand up and get her clothes, but her body was so cramped from being
held in one position that she ended up slipping off the table and collapsing on the ground
in a heap. She dragged herself over to the other table and pulled the clothes off, but real-
ized that attempting to get dressed was futile. Instead, she pulled open the fridge, and
found food and water inside.
She remained in the warehouse for several days, during which time she learned how to
walk again, and began to regain her memories. She knew her name, and recognized the
clothes. By the time the food began to run out, she'd remembered everything; her life, her
friends and family and the events leading up to her abduction.
Finally, she decided she was ready to return to the world. The warehouse didn't have any
exits on its outer walls, but there was a smaller structure in one corner. It had a door into it
from the warehouse, and Andrea assumed that the door out lay on the other side. It
looked like it had been added after the warehouse had been constructed; the materials
used were slightly different.
Andrea walked over and pulled open the door. Then she screamed and staggered back,
thrashing her arms madly and squeezing her eyes shut. The little room was lit by red lights
on the ceiling. A final surprise, left by Dr. Ridgewell.
Andrea was amazed. It was as if the light had caused her physical agony. She knew she
wouldn't be able to go through that room if she could see the light. She removed her jacket
and used it to cover her eyes. She had seen enough of the room to know that it was
empty, except for a door at the far side. She dashed through the room as quickly as pos-
sible, imagining the horrible red light beating down on her, and felt around for the door.
Finding it, she pulled it open and staggered outside.
The air was warm and the sun was beating down. It was summertime. Andrea paused to
contemplate this. It meant that she had either been in there only a month or two, or it
meant that she had been a prisoner for close to a year. She was forced to admit to herself
that she had absolutely no idea. Reaching up, she tentatively pulled the jacket away from
her face. The sky overhead was deep blue, and she was standing in a field of green
grass.
Green, green grass. Andrea went weak in the knees, and fell down, first to her knees, and
then face down in the grass. It didn't occur to her what had just happened until she
opened her eyes again, mere inches from the grass. The green colour permeated her vi-
sion and seemed from there into her body, and she convulsed in a powerful orgasm.
She couldn't believe the extent to which the machine had affected her. Three years of
psychology classes, and she hadn't known the extent of the effect which classical condi-
tioning could have. She doubted that anyone out there realized it, except perhaps Dr.
Ridgewell.
Her hand slipped inside her g-string, and she began to stroke herself and moan in ec-
stasy, aware only of the colour green. It took a while, and many orgasms, but eventually
her body was sufficiently satisfied that she could at least partially ignore the grass.
Checking her surroundings, she noticed that there was a road of some sort at the far end
of the field.
She headed over for it, hoping to find someone who could tell her where she was, or pos-
sibly even give her a lift. Halfway across the field of green grass, she had to stop and
masturbate again, but eventually she reached the road. It turned out to be a two lane
highway, so she sat down, keeping her eyes on the sky so as not to suffer any more ef-
fects of her conditioning.
Eventually, she heard a car approaching and she held out her thumb. But when she
looked to see if it was going to stop, she realized that it was a red car. She let out a little
squeal and dove into the ditch by the side of the road. She heard the car slow down, the
driver undoubtedly wondering what this crazy woman was doing, but thankfully, it didn't
stop.
Hauling herself out of the ditch, she sat back down to wait. The next car to come along
was black. That was ok. She held out her thumb and the car stopped. She asked the
driver how far from Montreal she was, and he told her it was only about half an hour away.
He said he was heading that way anyway and offered her a lift. Andrea gratefully ac-
cepted.
Andrea was brave enough to tell people what had happened. It turned out that she had in
fact been kept in the diabolic machine for exactly one year. The police launched an inves-
tigation, but failed to come up with anything. The only suspect description she could give
them was for the secretary, but they never found anyone fitting it.
Andrea resumed her life as best she could, but found that she had become completely
disgusted with the subject of psychology, formerly her only major interest in life. She found
it hard to function in the real world, since anything red terrified her, anything green made
her climax, and yellow made her so sexually frustrated it was impossible to concentrate on
anything.
Years passed, and slowly the conditioning faded. It never went away entirely, though. An-
drea found she had an aversion to red, got a bit uncomfortable and antsy around yellow,
and liked the colour green quite a bit. It manifested itself mostly in dealings with the oppo-
site sex. When she had recovered from her trauma enough to be interested in pursuing a
relationship, she found that she avoided guys who were wearing anything red, and always
found herself attracted to guys in green, even if they weren't her type. She felt sorry for the
anyone wearing yellow, because she knew she was sending them mixed signals; she
found herself getting turned on around them, but could never be comfortable. On the oc-
casions when she did hook up with someone, she found that her boyfriends underwent a
little bit of conditioning of their own. Although she never said anything to them, their ward-
robes invariably began to empty of anything red or yellow, and when buying new clothes
they often seemed to opt for various shades of green.
By the time she was 30, Andrea had left the experience behind her, despite the traces of
conditioning that still lingered. She rarely thought about it, and never for very long. She led
a fairly normal life, except for the slight colour bias. One day, however, an unpleasant re-
minder arrived, in the form of a small stack of papers on her doorstep. Attached to the pa-
pers was a note:
"My study is complete, and I thank you. You were an excellent subject. I attempted the
same experiment on several girls in other countries, and they all displayed nearly identical
responses, although not to the same degree that you did. Needless to say, no psychologi-
cal journal will print this paper, so I will have to opt for anonymous publication on the
Internet. It's actually sort of convenient to publish in that medium, since it facilitates the
attachment digital photographs and videos of you and the other subjects to the paper.
Here is a printout of the textual part of the paper. If you want to see the photos and videos,
the URL is given in an appendix of the paper. Sincerely, Dr. Ridgewell"
Something clicked in Andrea's mind. She suddenly realized why he had used the mask
and the voice filter. She had always assumed it was so that she would be unable to iden-
tify him, but she now realized that that notion made little sense; she could always identify
the receptionist, who could probably be convinced to rat him out, and in any case, he
could have always left the country during her imprisonment, as the woman had no doubt
done. No, the reason he didn't want her to be able to recognize him was because he
wanted to be able to study her for years after her release, to see the long term effects.
Fuck, for all she knew, he could have been one of the boyfriends she'd had since the ex-
periment.
She could never figure out the purpose of that note, however. Was he really so deranged
that he believed that she'd appreciate being given a copy of the study? The note seemed
friendly enough. Or did he send it to her out of some sort of sarcastic sadism, to taunt her
and bring back the painful memories? One thing was for sure, she didn't want to look at
the web page. It was torture enough for her to know that videos and pictures of her while
she was consumed by her animalistic nature were being made available for the public.
Most women worry that nude pictures of them might end up on the Internet. This was far,
far worse. Andrea definitely did not want to see it for herself.
THE END
