Mind Control M/F Revenge Sex BDSM: A Professor's Dark Secret

Tanked
by The Technician

Mind Control M/F Payback/Revenge

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
A professor finds a very interesting way to defend his research against defunding.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2013 by The Technician Technician666@Gmail.Com.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
* * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter One

She awoke to blackness - no, to more than blackness, to nothingness. Her eyes were open, but there was nothing to see. Her ears could hear nothing, not even the beating of her own heart. She was neither warm, nor cold. She didn't feel naked, and yet she could not feel clothing on her body. It was as if her body did not exist.

She tried to get up, or even to move and found that she could not. She knew her muscles were trying to move, but she remained in place. Nothing appeared to be restraining her, and yet she could not move.

A sudden. horrible thought flashed through her mind, "Am I dead?!"

She screamed. She could feel her throat vibrating with the intensity of the scream, but she heard nothing.

She willed herself not to panic. What was the last thing that she remembered before the nothingness.

The memories floated up to her slowly out of the darkness. She was chairing a meeting at the university. They were finally going to be able to defund that crackpot Dr. Kamachi and his left over from the sixties, hippie-inspired, sensory depravation labs.

When meeting Dr. Arnold Kamachi for the first time, everyone expected to see an oriental. They were almost always surprised to be greeted by a tall, thin, red-headed eastern European. "The man at immigration had no idea what name my great-grandfather was saying, so he wrote down 'Kamachi' and here I am."

University research isn't what it once was. It used to be publish or perish. Now it is produce and get sponsored or get out. Grants from corporations, the government and the military determined who stayed and who left. Teaching students became secondary to the process long ago. There were always graduate assistants for that.

Dr. Angela Quin was the head of the research assessment committee. Her word could make or break almost any professor or department, and she loved the power that her position gave her. No one was beyond her reach.

She tried to remember the details of the meeting. She had planned this for months. All her ducks were in a row. Liaison representatives were there from the administrative committees for corporate grants, government grants, and military grants. Once she clearly explained just how useless Dr. Kamachi's research actually was, and got it into the record that no one would want to fund such research, then Arnold would finally be finished. He would be off the campus and out of her hair forever.

The last time that Angela had forced a full review of Dr. Kamachi's work, Arnold had claimed that it was a personal vendetta, but that was pure nonsense. Did anyone really think that she would hold it against him that he had tried to seduce her at a faculty Christmas party several years ago. A loud, "No," and a solid, backhand swing that bloodied his mouth reinforced that she would have none of that. Yes, she had way too much to drink that night. And yes, she was snuggled up against him and had even had kissed him softly on the neck. But that doesn't mean she wanted anything more than that.

Angela paused in her silent tirade. Even in silent thought she would not allow any errors. That wasn't exactly true. Yes, she wanted more than that. She often desperately wanted more than that, but she had a career to think of. She was going to make a name for herself. She was going to make a difference for this university. She was going to be remembered forever for ground breaking changes brought about by her calm, sure leadership of the research at this great institution.

Such intense dedication is why she kept herself away from such things as sex, even if they did call her "The Ice Quinn" behind her back.

It didn't matter. Such things did not move toward her goals. Everything was a planned move toward fame and honor. There wasn't time for frivolities in her life.

That's what Dr. Kamachi was. He was a frivolity - something that could not be taken seriously. She strained to remember. What had happened at the meeting? Things had started well. She grilled Arnold about substantive results from his research. As expected there was none. It was all talk of expanding one's horizons and uncovering one's inner self - all useless frivolity.

She was about to call for a vote when one of the liaisons spoke up. He worked with military grants and research. He asked, "Tell me, Dr. Kamachi, is there ANYTHING at all about your research that would make it useful to the military."

"Well," Dr. Kamachi began, "except for the fact that, if it were misused, I could totally re- program a person in twenty four hours and make them do whatever you wanted them to do or tell you whatever you wanted to know, I can think of nothing that would be of use to the military."

That son of a bitch! He wasn't as stupid and naive as she had thought. He had set this up to sandbag her. "I haven't seen any mention of that in any of your status reports, Arnold. Do you have any way to prove this? Or are we supposed to just take your word on it? Our recommendations are due in three days." She remembered smiling sweetly at him, "Unless you can clearly demonstrate the results you claim by that time, I am afraid we will have to terminate your research."

"I have a proposal," replied Dr. Kamachi, "but explaining it would take us through your meal break. Why don't we discuss this over a late lunch and then we can reconvene and come to a decision?"

Dr. Quin didn't want to do that, but the other committee members all agreed. The three liaisons each added, "That would give me time to check with a couple of major grant contributors that might be interested."

By the time the committee was gathered for lunch in the side room of a nearby restaurant that catered to campus faculty, the corporate and government liaisons were both able to report no real interest. The military grant liaison, however, was interested. "I have two possible major grants - very major grants - if your research has uncovered a way to do what you claim. But we need proof."

Angela knew she had him. "Since you have not published or reported any such capability, Arnold, the only proof acceptable would be to produce someone for the grant donors who has been reprogrammed in twenty four hours. That means someone who will do everything that you command them to do. And it has to be something that can be proven to be totally against what they would normally do. I will give you until 6:00 o'clock tomorrow night to accomplish that."

She had expected him to become angry or slink away in defeat, instead he answered, "I'll drink to that. You're on."

He then poured a small amount of wine into her empty wineglass and handed it back to her. He raised his glass and said, "To proof that I can reprogram anyone."

"Here, here," said one of the professors, and they all drained the small amount of wine remaining in their glasses.

Arnold turned to the military liaison and said, "Bring any prospective grant donors to my labs at 6:00 tomorrow night. The committee can reconvene there, I will give you absolute proof that I can reprogram anyone to do whatever I want them to do in twenty four hours or less."

Floating in the dark nothingness, Angela tried to remember what happened next. She could vaguely remember fumbling with her car keys as they walked to the parking lot. Someone asked, "Are you OK to drive?" Someone else - Arnold - said, "I'll drive her home. Looks like the rest of the meeting will have to be postponed."

She had tried to protest, but things were swirling around her. And then... and then... and then she had awakened to blackness. She knew where she was!

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed as loudly as she could. Except for the minor vibration of the throat, she heard nothing and felt nothing. She was in Dr. Arnold Kamachi's sensory depravation tank.

She couldn't see because her face was enclosed in a modified full-face scuba mask. She couldn't hear because there were computerized, sound cancelling earphones in her ears that cancelled out any noise that she made. She couldn't feel because she was wearing a very expensive, specially designed wet suit with hundreds, if not thousands of tiny rubber bands on it that held her exactly in the middle of the tank. And she was floating just beneath the surface of a negative buoyancy salt solution at exactly 79 degrees Fahrenheit. Total sensory depravation.

"Do you think that you can break me with sensory depravation, you crazy bastard!" she screamed. She couldn't hear herself, but the vibrations of her throat felt good and vented her anger.

"You stupid son of a bitch. I've done meditation for years. I could float here in this nothingness for a couple of days before it started to get to me. Twenty four hours from now, your ass is mine!"

Then she felt it. It was so slight that she wasn't sure that her mind was not playing tricks on her until she felt it a second time. It was a slight tingle. Perhaps it was a very mild electrical charge. Or maybe some of the tiny bands that held her still were vibrating for some reason. It was almost like someone sliding their fingernail up her back.

It didn't quite tickle, but it felt odd, none-the-less. Then it was gone. Then just as suddenly, it was back, but now across her front and there were two of them. The twin tickle-tingle began just above her pubic bone and slowly drifted upward. As it passed her navel, it split into two tracks, each of which continued upward toward her breasts. She shivered as they climbed the mound of her breasts. A silent moan escaped her lips as the tingle reached her nipples. And then... they were gone.

She wiggled - or at least tried to - trying to recapture the feeling. She hoped for the tickle-tingle, but instead she screamed as intense electrical shocks slammed into her breasts and her buttocks, followed almost immediately by even more intense lightning that struck her nipples and her clit. Her throat vibrated in a silent scream of pain and terror until she finally ran out of breath.

She hung, or floated, or whatever, silently in the darkness. And then the tickle-tingle came back. Now it was on her buttocks. It was as if someone was brushing the tips of the fingernails of both hands slowly down her ass cheeks. She once again shivered as the sensation moved slowly down her legs and disappeared.

Again, she tried wiggling to create the sensation, and again her breasts and buttocks and then her nipples and clit were painfully shocked.

Evidently movement wasn't allowed. When her body finally stopped quivering from the electrical shots she decided to just float silently in the darkness.

After several moments of nothingness, the fingernails returned. Now they were tracing their way down her legs on both the front and the back. They disappeared only to return circling her breasts until they closed in on her ever-tightening nipples. Now they were coming up her legs and down her belly moving toward the area between her legs.

The tickle-tingles moved around her clit and flowed into the depths of her vagina. How was that possible? Vibrations on the suit could not go in there. She must have something inserted into her. She clenched down on whatever it was with her cervical muscles, and was rewarded with a sharp electrical shock deep within her pussy and her ass.

Within her ass? There must be something inserted there, too. Her mind was telling her to struggle to get out, to do something - anything to escape, but she knew that movement would be punished. Passivity would be rewarded. She lay quiet now, hoping for the tickle-tingle sensations to return.

Return they did. Again and again the sensations flowed across her skin... teasing her... tantalizing her... driving her to the very edge of orgasm....... and then stopping. Each time the sensations stopped, they left her hanging in the black nothingness moaning her frustration.

Then the voices began. Were they auditory hallucinations? Or was someone speaking to her? What were they saying? What were they asking? Angela concentrated with all her might on the voice that was just beyond the veil of silence.

Then she could hear it. "Do you want relief? Do you want to cum?"

"Yes, yes," she screamed.

"What will you do if I let you cum? What will you give me?"

"Anything," she yelled into the silent darkness. "Anything!"

And the fingernails returned. They stroked her on the inside of her legs moving away from her now sopping cunt. The slid across her ass cheeks and into the cleft that conceal her rosebud, and then they slid into her and pulsed inside her ass.

She convulsed and quivered as an orgasm began and suddenly vibrated with pain as the lightening struck her ass and breasts, with the more intense second strike directly on her clit and nipples.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," she moaned. Let me cum. Let me cum. I'll remain totally still. I will. I will. I won't move. Just LET ME CUM!"

She floated crying in the darkness until the fingernails returned. They again traced their path up and down the inside of her legs. She wanted to open her legs wider for them, but knew that she absolutely could not move, or the pleasure would be gone and the pain would replace it.

The voices started again. "Are you a slut?" they asked. "Are you a slut who would do anything just to cum?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I am."

The tickle-tingles once again went into her asshole and once again began to pulse within her. She felt the orgasm building, but remained totally motionless.

More tickle-tingles traced their way down her stomach and circled her throbbing clitoris. One brushed back and forth across that tender organ while others slid insider her cunt and began to pulse against the walls almost like a moving penis.
"Don't move; don't move; don't move," Angela kept saying to herself. It was almost a mantra like she used in her daily meditations.

"Don't move; don't move; don't move."

But the orgasm boiling within her was consuming her body. It exploded and tore the darkness apart. There was blinding light and sound and chaos - all coming from within her. And there was pain pounding into her body from the outside as her body convulsed in ecstasy.

Finally her body stopped thrashing from the pain and the pleasure, and she hung silent once again. At least she hung silently until the tickle-tingles started once again to trace their way up the inner side of her legs.

Chapter Two

The Research Assessment Committee met in the conference room on the third floor of the behavioral science building where Dr. Arnold Kamachi's research rooms were located. Dr. Angela Quin, head of the committee, sat at one end of the table. Dr. Kamachi sat at the other end. The four committee members and three liaisons plus two obviously military men in civilian clothes sat between them.

"So, Dr. Kamachi?" began Dr. Quinn. "Do you have your proof for these gentlemen, or do we schedule the remodeling of these floors in the morning?"

Arnold looked at the ten people sitting with him at the table. "First, let me verify the terms of this test. I have to produce someone who has been reprogrammed in twenty four hours. They have do everything that I command them to do. And it has to be proven to be totally against what they would normally do. Is that it?"

"Of course it is," she replied disdainfully. "But you obviously haven't succeeded."

"Not so fast," he responded. "Let me set out some facts first. Is it an accepted fact that Dr. Quin does not like me?"

He looked directly at Dr. Mark Philips. "What do you say Mark?"

"'Not like' would be putting it mildly." he replied.

"And is it not an accepted fact that, at best, Dr. Quinn is a straight-laced prude who at most, when totally blasted at a party, will tease and run away? What do you say, Dr. Parker?"

Dr. John Parker shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Come on John. Aren't you the one who tagged her as 'the Ice Quinn' after she slapped your face at the spring picnic six years ago?"

John cleared his throat and answered, "Uh... we.. the committee will concede that Dr. Quinn is... sexually repressed."

"So if I asked her to take off all of her clothes right here in this meeting and she did it, it would absolutely be something that she would not normally do for me?"

"Or for anyone else," added Dr. Mary Williams.

"OK then," said Dr. Kamachi as he rose to his feet and stood at

Explore my other stories

THE END