Free College Lesbian Bondage by Aster Zhen Page A

eyes widening. “Do you live here yourself?”
    “Pretty much.” She stepped out of her shoes, and I quickly followed suit. “Would you like anything to drink?”
    “Sure.” I headed after her into the kitchen, resisting the urge to run my fingers over her counter tops. Everything was sickeningly, perfectly neat, as though she lived in a display home. “I think this is the cleanest house I’ve ever seen.”
    She passed me a glass of juice. Ice clinked inside it. “I get amazing service.”
    “Really?”
    She nodded. “You wouldn’t believe the things that people are willing to do once you’ve worked them over for a few hours in a dungeon,” she said, completely deadpan.
    I practically snorted out my juice. “You’re funny.”
    She didn’t deign to reply.
    We sipped in silence as I looked around her living room, trying to think of something to say. I didn’t know much about her except for her name. We only shared one class together, which meant she probably wasn’t majoring in psychology. Oh, wait. Maybe that was something we could safely talk about. “What’s your major?” I asked.
    “Business. I plan to start up my own firm.”
    “Doing what?”
    She shrugged. “Nothing too interesting,” she hedged. “So, how are you liking the class? I only took it for the muff.”
    I blinked. “Excuse me?”
    “Arts, sociology, women’s studies all have their share of carpet munchers,” Alice explained patiently. “But I didn’t have any of the right points for those subjects so I took psych. It’s worked out pretty well.”
    I felt myself blushing again and I glanced away, willing my face to cool down. Oh, God. Not an emo but a crazy dyke. Well, it could’ve been worse.
    “Are you done? We’d best get started,” Alice said, grabbing her books off the counter. “You can put the glasses away.”
    I looked over. She’d left hers by the sink, empty. I gulped down the rest of my juice and stuck both of them in her dishwasher. Wasn’t it the host’s job to clean up? Maybe she’s just a bit awkward , I thought to myself. It would explain a lot.
    I glanced up to find her waiting for me, an impatient look on her face. “Come on, then,” she said, gesturing with her free hand. I grabbed my bags and followed her upstairs.
    I was expecting hordes of Hello Kitty or something, but her bedroom was modern, almost austere. She went to her desk and turned on her laptop, gesturing for me to sit. There were no other chairs, so I sat on the bed.
    “I coded the IAT already,” she said. It took me a minute to remember that IAT stood for implicit association test. “The stimuli are all in place. Did you want to have a try?” she asked, gesturing to the program on her screen.
    “Aren’t we supposed to be running the experiment, not taking it?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but you’ve got to test that it works first.”
    Somehow I had a feeling that she knew it ran perfectly, but I shrugged and went over anyway. We swapped seats and I scrolled through the instructions, then came to the first test screen. It showed a cutaway of an erect penis. “Oh, eww! What are you testing? This is never going to get through ethics review!”
    Alice shrugged. “There’ll be a disclaimer that people will sign,” she explained. “Maybe you could write it.”
    I grimaced. “Warning, disturbing sexual content?”
    She looked strangely at me. “Do you find men disturbing?”
    I glanced away, my cheeks warm again. Damn, she’d totally set me up for that. I looked at the screen and tried to concentrate. Every photo was of something pornographic; tits both natural and fake, asses, pussies, dicks in various states of arousal. I felt myself blushing. It was soon obvious what the test was supposed to divine, since I had to match either men or women to keywords like “sexy”, “gorgeous” or “ugly”, “tragic”. No way I was going to attach my name to a project like this and hand it in. I could just imagine Ms