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I’m a long-time reader of this content, but this is my first attempt at a story like this. I appreciate it may not be the most original!
I stood at the desk, my throat dry and my heart thumping. I hadn’t expected this process to be so nerve-wracking. Yet here I was.
The room was empty except for myself and the receptionist, who was busy searching through a filing cabinet.
“Sorry, just give me a moment to find it.” She was a large, stout woman dressed in a very sensible cardigan, short enough that she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach the furthest files in the drawer. There was no hint of apology in her voice.
Aside from the occasional small grunt of effort from behind the desk, the space was enveloped by the ticking of the clock hanging above the door. I was desperately hoping that nobody else would walk in and see me. Not that I had anything to be ashamed of. There could be any number of reasons for me to be stood in the Student Services office. Still, the paranoia was there.
I was a university student in my third and final year. Truth be told, I was having the time of my life, enjoying the freedom and independence that came with living away from home. And yet somehow I was starting to feel things becoming a little… stale.
I had a small but reliable friendship group from various societies we took part in. I was living in a decent flat, opting for university accommodation instead of doing the usual thing and moving into a rented house. Money wasn’t so much of an issue thanks to a bursary scheme that I had somehow been accepted for. I had received enough marks to gain a first in my second year and things were looking good for a first-class degree. But I was becoming overwhelmed by an urge to put myself out there and do something different. Something daring.
When I was a wide-eyed and overexcited fresher I signed up to the student union’s weekly magazine. Of course, after skimming through the first issue I realised it was your typical poorly-written trash and ever since they had been piling up in the corner of my room. For whatever reason, last week I felt compelled to open the most recent one. Perhaps I thought it may have improved in the two and a half years since I last scanned through a copy. I picked up the magazine from the floor and flicked through.
Turns out, things were still broadly the same, save for one extra section towards the back.
Want to make some easy cash? Sign up to one of these studies and receive payment for your participation!
A thought crossed my mind. This could be the change, the variety I was looking for. I read through the titles of the studies, most of them being dull, half-hour long surveys. Towards the bottom, one caught my eye.
SEXUAL BEHAVIOURS STUDY
This is a week long residential study funded by the Sexual Behavioural Science Research Group, led by Dr S.R. Jenkins.
This research aims to analyse adult sexual activity in a controlled, confined environment.
Your participation in this study will be strictly anonymous and you may withdraw at any point in the process.
The minimum age for participation is 18.
There was some small print below regarding timings and the extraordinarily high payment. It suddenly occurred to me that there was nothing really stopping me from taking part.
And so, a week later, a receptionist at Student Services was handing me a piece of paper and a pen.
“Now this form has a red bar at the top, which means you’ll need to fill it out in one of those,” she said, pointing to the group of three enclosed booths at the side of the room. I nodded meekly and stepped inside the furthest one, closing the curtain behind me.
The form was simple enough, asking for my name, age, sexual orientation and other personal details. At the bottom were two statements to sign, one confirming that the information I just gave was completely confidential and the other confirming my willingness to participate in a study that “involves the anonymised recording and documentation of sexual acts, including non-penetrative and penetrative sex, between consenting adults.” I signed in both spaces and dropped the form into a letterbox in the wall on my way out.
The following weeks leading up to the study were some of the oddest I’ve experienced. I was required to read a number of prescribed articles on sexual wellbeing, expressing consent and even sexual advice. I was tested for a vast range of sexually transmitted diseases, which thankfully all came back negative. I was even asked to refrain from masturbating for a week before the study commenced, which may have been the most difficult part of the process. And all through this, I was still half convinced that I would back out of the study and walk away.
But before I knew it, I was packing a suitcase and catching a bus for a research building on the outskirts of the city. I was the only person to get off at that stop, and had to wait around for a while as I had been given very explicit instructions to arrive within a five minute window. I assumed this was to allow the bahis firmaları participants of the survey to enter the building without seeing anyone else.
As I walked up to the unassuming red brick building, I started to wonder about who I would ‘encounter’ in this week. Would it be just one person or multiple? Or would I be part of some control group and be stuck alone in my room for a week, jerking off to porn and wondering why the hell I even bothered?
These questions were soon answered after I was greeted at the reception and taken to a very small office where, sat behind her desk, a smartly dressed women sat smiling at me.
“Hi there! My name’s Dr Jenkins. Take a seat,” she said in a friendly, sing-song voice. She confirmed my name and then leaned forward on the desk, her hands clasped in front of her. Maybe it was because I hadn’t masturbated in a week, but I couldn’t help but find her intoxicatingly attractive. She looked to be in her late thirties, with short black hair and a colourful array of ear piercings. She wore a very bright green high-necked top, tightly fitted and accentuating her ample chest. A tattoo was peaking out the collar of her left arm. She was exactly the sort of person you might expect to be running a sexual behaviour study, and the way she was leaning forwards and eyeing me almost made me suspect that this was part of the research.
“So, just to confirm, you are fully aware of the nature of this residential?”
“Good. I’ll explain the process then. Your name has been entered into the system here,” she explained, motioning to her computer, “and in a moment you will be randomly allocated to another individual according to your sexual orientation. Now of course, we make no guarantees as to whether this person appeals to your particular physical preferences.” She said this with a small smile. “However, even if you don’t feel sexually attracted to the individual, it will all contribute towards our research. The arrangement is that you spend a week living with this person in one of our specially fitted apartments, all while being monitored by cameras installed in each room, engaging in as much or as little sexual activity as you and your partner see fit.”
I took some deep breaths. I had to admit, although it was daunting, the thought of being watched so intimately excited me. In my few previous sexual encounters I had never considered myself to be much of an exhibitionist, but the idea certainly appealed. Dr Jenkins seemed to notice my excitement and went on.
“Now I understand this may be a rather scary prospect, and so should you feel the need to, you may exit the study at any point by simply leaving your apartment. This will end the study for you and your partner immediately. Otherwise, you are required to stay in the flat for the full week. Food and supplies will of course be provided. Do you have any questions?”
I had a few, but none that she would be able to answer, so I shook my head. She smiled and rose to her feet. The door behind me opened and another smartly dressed woman led out of the office, down a long corridor and up several flights of stairs, before arriving at a hallway that resembled a cheap hotel.
“You’ll be in apartment 3E, which is just down the left there. Your partner is waiting inside. There’s a phone in the kitchen so if you need anything during the week, give us a call and my team will get to you as soon as we can.” She handed me a keycard and left.
Nervously I walked down the corridor. I was expecting a cacophony of moaning and thumping against walls, yet it was surprisingly quiet. Once I reached my door, I swiped the keycard and stepped inside.
I stood in a tiny entranceway with another door leading to the main apartment. The walls were white and the carpet was an uninteresting shade of blue. The only object in the room was a pair of shoes, clearly belonging to a female. Well, I thought to myself, at least they got that right.
I slowly opened the door to the apartment and peered in. There was nobody there to greet me, so I took off my shoes and stepped inside.
It was a simply furnished but very pleasant living space. I stood in the left corner of a combined kitchen and sitting room which, although small, did not feel too closed in thanks to the open-plan design and natural light coming from two large windows (which, I noted with some relief, had been fitted with frosted glass.) On the wall on my left were some plug sockets and a smallish TV. A sofa sat in the middle of the room facing the screen, and behind it was the kitchen. I walked across the room and looked it over. It was simple enough but very clean. All the appliances seemed to be new, or at least very well kept. In fact, I was beginning to notice that every single fixture and fitting in the apartment seemed to be brand new. There was still a very slight hint of fresh paint smell in the air. A wireless telephone was sitting on the breakfast bar, as promised.
As I started to settle into the space, I noticed the sounds of a shower coming from the other room behind the kitchen. I walked through kaçak iddaa the archway and found myself in a sparsely furnished bedroom. There was a large double bed, on top of which were some towels, bathrobes and basic toiletries. On each side was a bedside table and a lamp. Opposite the bed against the wall was a desk, with two comfortable looking chairs and two laptops. We had been instructed to use these rather than our personal devices, I assumed for the purposes of monitoring our internet consumption. On another wall was a wardrobe, in front of which was a suitcase presumably belonging to my ‘partner,’ and on the wall opposite, a closed door which must have been the bathroom. Where my partner was currently showering.
I considered knocking on the door to let her know I was here, but decided against it. Instead, I left my suitcase next to hers and headed back into the main living space. I checked the fridge and found it was fully stocked, so I grabbed a coke and sat down in front of the TV. Flicking through the channels, for the first time I looked up and saw in each corner of the room a very small, discreet camera. I cast my eyes around and noticed some other cameras: one on top of the fridge, one next to the phone on the breakfast bar, one above the door leading out of the apartment. I was becoming aware of the uneasy feeling of being watched.
I noticed with a start that the shower had been turned off. I carried on facing the screen, I suppose not wanting to completely freak out the person I was living with, and listened. I heard the bathroom door open and some footsteps, which paused for a moment, before getting louder as she stepped into the room. I turned to face her.
We stopped as we saw each other. It took a moment, but I could feel myself going pale as I realised I recognised the girl standing in the kitchen.
“Hi Hannah,” I said, quietly.
Hannah was a girl on my course. I hadn’t really spoken to her much, but we knew of each other and were reasonably friendly around each other. She had her own friendship group which I didn’t really take much notice of, though I recall doing some sort of group project with her in first year. All I knew of her was that she was smart, polite and a fairly outgoing person without being obnoxious about it.
“Oh my god… So you…?” She didn’t finish her sentence and instead, thankfully, started laughing. I laughed too.
As I looked at her I began to realise that my worries of being paired with someone I would find sexually unappealing were unfounded. Hannah was a pretty girl with straight blonde shoulder-length hair and a slim frame. She wasn’t exactly a supermodel, but then again, I supposed that wasn’t really my type. I was used to seeing her in a jumper and brightly-coloured leggings, with her hair tied back in a ponytail. Stood in front of me now, however, her hair was still wet and draped over her bare shoulders, a white towel covering her body. I could still see the outline of her smallish breasts, though nothing more.
The laughter broke some of the tension and gave me a chance to explain myself.
“Yeah, I signed up to this thing months ago. I had no idea you’d be involved.”
“Me neither,” she said, folding her arms and shaking her head in disbelief. “This is crazy. Hold on, I’ll go put something on and we’ll talk.”
She darted back into the bedroom and moments later reappeared in one of the bathrobes. She hopped onto the sofa and brought her knees up, clutching them to her chest while facing me. She looked me up and down for the briefest of moments before speaking.
“So… This is weird.”
We laughed again, not really knowing what to say.
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
“How come you signed on to this thing, then? It’s not exactly a normal study or anything.”
I explained to her how I’d been feeling stuck and bored with my status quo, how I needed to deliberately throw a spanner in the works and get something interesting going on in my life again. She nodded enthusiastically.
“I’m totally the same, I’ve just… I don’t know, I’ve been feeling sort of stale lately. I want something new to shake things up a bit, I guess.”
“But this is, like, a sexual experiences thing. Aren’t you with…?” It was bold but I wanted to clear it up. She snorted and waved her hand.
“Wow, you really haven’t been keeping up, have you? I broke up with him in second year, it just wasn’t working.”
“Ah shit, Hannah, I’m sorry.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” she said, momentarily placing a hand on my arm. “I’m happier, I know that.”
We sat in silence for a moment, just staring at each other. She was quite extroverted, which actually made things easier for me. I had a feeling she could sense my shyness, but I didn’t want to have to spend the entire week in awkward silence, so I carried on talking.
“Why this, though? Why a sex study?”
She shrugged. “I mean, why else? I… want to have more sex.” Now it was her that was getting shy. “I’ve never gone out just to hook up with someone, so this seemed like a different way into it. What kaçak bahis about you?”
I nodded. “Same, pretty much. I guess we’re all just extra horny right now.”
We both laughed at that. She brought her knees down and shifted a little closer to me.
“You know, it’s kind of obvious, but this means we’re going to be having sex, right?” She looked at me, a sense of nervousness in her eyes.
“I guess we are. If that’s okay with you, obviously.”
“Yeah, yeah, I think we should…” Her voice trailed off. Another awkward silence. Suddenly, she jumped to her feet. “I’m hungry, let’s make lunch.”
We threw a couple of sandwiches together, her in her bathrobe and me still in the clothes I arrived in. As we ate, we started talking more and getting to know each other. I was rapidly growing to like Hannah, and I was regretting not talking to her more in the past. We had similar opinions on things like our favourite lecturers, the state of the student union facilities, which bars and clubs in town were best avoided. She had a bubbly sort of eagerness that I was very fond of. All the while, a nervous energy hung in the air like electricity, both of us knowing that the purpose of use two being in this apartment together was to have sex. And lots of it.
Once we finished eating Hannah offered to clear up while I went to the bathroom to take a shower. As I stepped in I saw that Hannah’s clothes were still in a folded pile on the floor. I couldn’t help but notice this included her underwear. I stooped down and gently felt one of the cups of her bra, but stopped myself before I got too excited. The urge to masturbate was already killing me, and if we really were going to fuck at any point during this, I better control myself.
I showered quickly and, after a thought, dressed myself in just the bathrobe as Hannah did. I walked back into the main room and saw her sat at the breakfast bar.
“Hey, take a look at this.”
She showed me what looked like some sort of bread bin, but as I drew closer I saw it was full of different sorts of condoms and lubricants.
“Holy shit. I mean, I guess that makes sense.”
“Well, I’ve been on the pill for a year now so a lot of this isn’t really necessary, so…” She glanced at me quickly before flicking through the different packets. “Oh look, you can take this one home.” She tossed a packet of extra small condoms at me teasingly. I batted them away.
“Well, you better be careful what you’re saying there,” I said with a grin. “You sure you want to be spending a week with a guy with an extra small dick?”
She shrugged. “Size isn’t everything. There’s more to making me cum than just having a big cock.”
Hearing her say “cum” so directly like that was a bit of a shock, but a welcome one. She pulled out a cherry flavoured condom.
“Never tried one of these before.” She said it almost dismissively. Tossing it back into the box and closing the lid, she hopped off the chair and walked over to the sofa. “Let’s watch something.”
“Er… sure.” I stayed in my seat.
“Come on, then.” She beckoned me over.
“No, it’s… it’s fine.” I was suddenly getting very uncomfortable.
“What’s up, why won’t you-? Ah,” she said with a knowing grin.
The stiffness of my cock wasn’t visible to her behind the bar, but I could feel it pushing out against the fabric of my bath robe. Hannah paced over to me slowly, an eyebrow raised.
“Well this is fun. You okay there?”
“Oh shut up,” I said, feeling my cheeks go red. “Sorry, I mean, it’s just a bit… embarrassing?”
“Embarrassing? That?” She nodded at my still hidden crotch. “Look, if you’re going to be fucking me, I’ll be seeing much more than you pitching a tent, you know.”
Again, hearing her speak so boldly about me fucking her had all sorts of things racing through my mind. She noticed.
“Was it because I said about making me cum? Was that it?” She walked right up to me, placing a hand on my shoulder in a teasingly patronising way as I tried to hide my erection. “Well,” she said, lowering herself down to my level, “you’re going to be making me cum a whole lot this week. I just know it. You’re going to fuck me and you’re going to make me cum, and I want that so, so bad.”
I swallowed. My cock was now throbbing and her lips were centimetres from my neck.
“Do you want to fuck me?” she asked beseechingly.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Well, stand up then.”
Timidly, I turned round and stood up. It occurred to me that only a couple of girls had actually seen my cock before, and Hannah was about to be the third. My cock was poking through my bathrobe, fully erect. I was aching to cum.
Hannah smiled approvingly. “I can work with that.” She stepped forward and reached for the collar of my robe, before seemingly changing her mind and instead grabbing her own. She continued to stare at my cock as she undid the belt of her robe and let it open. My eyes followed as the material parted, revealing her cleavage, the gap between her breasts, the subtle line leading down to her navel, and finally, fully shaved, her pussy lips. I drank her in as she shifted her shoulders and let the robe fall completely, revealing her pert little breasts with small, perfectly round nipples. I could tell from her breathing that she was just as nervous as I was.
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