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THE MONSTER SEX EXPERIMENT
By Nixie Fairfax
Copyright 2018 by Nixie Fairfax
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This work contains explicit sexual content and is intended for adults only. All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
Cell 1: Fiona Lewis
Cell 2: Katie Macintyre
Cell 3: Olivia Blucher
Cell 4: Megan Mobley
Cell 5: Maddie Pryce
Cell 6: Trisha Prentiss
Cell 7: Sarah Scott
Cell 8: Sophie Honeycutt
Cell 9: Lauren Schumacher
Cell 10: Jennifer Lau
Cell 11: Claire Eliot
Cell 12: Baylee Hutchins
Cell 13: Hannah Baker
Cell 14: Zoe Kensington
Cell 15: Sadie Honeycutt
Cell 16: Rebecca Blish
Cell 17: Abby Van Zandt
Cell 18: Liz Twotrees
Cell 19: Cat Ruiz
Cell 20: Emma Quigley
Red. That’s the first thing Abby Van Zandt sees when she opens her eyes: a mass of bright, coppery red, a thousand shining filaments of it like tiny wires filling her vision.
She frowns groggily, her mind still hazed with sleep. What is she looking at? What in her bedroom looks like that? Or is she somewhere else? Is this Chad’s room, or…?
No, wait. They broke up. That’s right. (And despite her grogginess and confusion, the memory of that breakup and the events surrounding it make her flush, overcome with anger, shame, arousal, her face turning even redder than the…the…)
What the hell is she looking at?
She lifts her head a little to see things from a different angle and discovers that the filaments are hair. She’s looking at the back of someone’s head from a few inches away, someone with long coppery tresses that trail out across an oddly blank white floor. The redhead is lying on her side, unmoving. And it’s definitely a her. The creamy, Rubenesque figure amply proves that. Plus, the girl is naked. Completely stark, raving nude.
This discovery makes Abby realize she’s naked too. She can feel the air on her bare skin, the floor against her right side. And the floor feels weird, now that she thinks about it. Kind of soft and pleasantly warm. Almost like skin.
What the fuck happened? Where is she? Did Abby and this girl…did they…did something happen between them? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course; lesbianism is perfectly normal and acceptable. But…
Abby frantically digs through her mind in search of the last thing she remembers. When she finds it, she stiffens with a gasp. The bus! The light!
She sits up and looks around, the last vestiges of sleep—and, although she doesn’t know it yet, of all hint of normalcy—falling away from her like an unfastened shawl.
She’s in a sort of cell, one of twenty that ring a large, round domed room fifty feet wide. Each cell is about twelve feet deep and ten high, and is roughly seven feet wide closest to the domed room but widens to nearly twelve farthest away. The cells’ adjoining walls and the walls facing the central circular area are composed of some transparent material detectable only by a faint shimmer as she moves about. The material doesn’t look like glass or plastic. If anything, it kind of reminds her of forcefields from sci-fi flicks. The cells’ rear walls—the ones opposite the domed room—are, like the floors and ceilings, composed of that odd white substance that reminds her of skin. The ceiling glows with a steady, whitish light that illuminates all the interlinked chambers as brightly as a high-tech science lab, an analogy only heightened by the whiteness of the fleshy substance. Coiled on the floor in the very center of the circular chamber is a sort of cord or thin rope made of that same white substance. One end of the line is attached to the floor. The other terminates in a small loop. It looks suspiciously like a manacle.
Each of the twenty cells contains a naked young woman, all but Abby lying on the pallid floor as though asleep or dead.
Like animals. Caged animals.
The flash of arousal she felt earlier returns, stronger now, strong enough to make her a little wet.
She shakes her head as if to dislodge these inappropriate feelings, then takes a closer look at her neighbors. The redhead, she discovers, is Rebecca Blish, a fellow Senior at Crestwood High. Abby’s other neighbor is Liz Twotrees, likewise a fellow Senior. Liz lies on her back, her eyes closed, her bronze, small-breasted chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Both girls had been on the field trip with Abby, along with the rest of Mr. Toynbee’s and Mr. Gunner’s Bio classes. They had all been on the bus together.
“What the fuck?” spits a voice full of anger and alarm.
Abby whirls around and finds that another of her fellow captives has joined her in the land of consciousness. About a quarter of the way around the ring of cells clockwise from Abby, a skinny pale figure with unevenly cut shoulder-length black hair is rising shakily to her feet. Fiona Lewis. Another passenger on the bus and Crestwood High’s resident trailer trash.
Abby immediately berates herself for her knee-jerk reaction. She shouldn’t think of Fiona like that. It’s unfair. If Fiona has issues they’re due to her having grown up economically disadvantaged, lacking the opportunities at self-betterment afforded those with more money in this sadly unequal and frankly borderline-evil crapitalistc socioeconomic system. Fiona’s not to blame.
* * *
Fiona catches Abby staring at her and with a sneer flips her the bird. Crestwood High’s resident tree-hugger and social justice warrior just blinks back with a totally retarded, gape-mouthed expression of surprise. Dumbfuck.
Fiona looks around again. At the cells. Their naked occupants.
It’s like a prison. Some kind of weird-ass prison. Shit, did someone find out what happened with Dad? Did they decide to just lock her away and toss away the key, no questions, no trial?
No, wait, that makes no sense. Why would that Van Zandt drip be here? And these other girls? Most of them are still lying down, still asleep, making it hard to identify them, but that blonde over there with the tramp stamp over her big ass, that’s gotta be that airhead Baylee Hutchins. And the girl two cells away from Baylee: She might not be decked out in one of her usual quirky, colorful outfits, but there’s no mistaking Zoe Kensington, club-hopping fashionista and the high school’s one and only black student.