The Amoral Experiments
Copyright© 2026 by Kelvin Murphy
Chapter 1
Mystery Sex Story: Chapter 1 - She wakes up in a hospital with no memories. Her life becomes a series of experiments. Will she recover her past or will she become something else?
Caution: This Mystery Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Blackmail Drunk/Drugged Fiction Group Sex Anal Sex Oral Sex Doctor/Nurse
She opened her eyes.
The room was filled with a hazy gray mist. The mist obscured the sterile white objects in the room, and the young man in white who stood over her reclining form seemed to be emerging from the mists of a dream. She tried to focus her attention on his face, for there, she reasoned, might be a clue to her own poignantly lost identity. If she recognized this man, that recognition might release the rest of her memory, and recall for her the images of her forgotten past.
“How do you feel, miss?” he asked. His tone was warm, almost personal, and yet there was something very professional about him. His brown eyes were serious and unblinking. She thought he looked like an owl staring down from his tree branch. This made her laugh. She had never seen him before.
“The drug hasn’t worn off completely,” another voice said. The voice of a middle-aged woman performing a very routine task.
“She’s still under,” the man spoke softly, “but not so deep that she can’t see and hear us. She is conscious enough for what we must do.”
They lifted her from her resting place and carried her from that room into another, equally sterile and white, which was also filled with the cool metal and porcelain objects. She glimpsed at a tray of metallic instruments in a shallow dish as they lowered her onto a narrow cot. The mattress was covered with clean, fresh linen. They left her on the top cover and stepped back to observe her limp form.
“Yes, you’re right,” the woman said. “She is conscious.”
The man leaned over and spoke into the girl’s ear. “Can you speak?”
It was useless, but she made an attempt, as much to convince them of the futility as for any other reason. She saw and heard them as if they were paper cutouts moving now against a smoky gray panel, now a snow-white vastness. She managed to utter a tiny, feeble croak.
“Good!” the woman barked.
“Yes, very good indeed,” the man, whom she had decided was a doctor, chuckled as he turned to a container of instruments. She couldn’t see exactly which choice he made, but the instrument he withdrew was not a pair of scissors or a swab. He handed the shiny object to the lady, who had drawn a bedpan of hot water.
“Shave her,” the doctor said.
She tried to lift herself on one elbow to protest, but she could not move. She could not speak. She closed her eyes and began to weep as the lady touched her thighs and gently parted her legs. No tears wet her cheeks. She felt as if she had been lost in a frightening dream where no outcry, no struggle, and no escape was permitted. When the icy razor touched her, she became rigid. It was difficult to breathe. The nurse pulled the gleaming blade gently and evenly through the thick coils of hair until finally the job was finished. Then she moved alongside the girl and began to shave her armpits. The clumps of dark, pungent hair under the arms took only a few seconds to shave. Then, without a word, the nurse went to a basin and began washing the razor.
“Can you speak?” the doctor called to her, his voice droning like the voice of a man standing in a deep cavern. He moved toward her through curlicues of mist, emerging at the side of the cot naked and pale as a ghost. She could not move.
“All right, nurse! If you will be so kind as to hold the subject’s arms, I will proceed.”
The nurse moved briskly to the head of the cot and held the girl’s arms down. Her large bust dangled above the girl’s face like a heavy cloud formation.
The doctor mounted her.
She felt his coarse skin against her and his warm breath quickening against her neck. He did something with his hand, and she was consumed by a sudden, searing pain. She clenched her fists and cried out, but it was no use. Now they weren’t interested in whether or not she could speak. The nurse said something unintelligible. She felt wet. She wanted to sleep, to get away from them, to drift away into a world of peace and quiet where she could collect her thoughts and try to remember all the forgotten facts about herself. She felt that she would be able to remember her name if only she had time. It was on the tip of her tongue. If the pain would vanish for a moment, she could close her eyes and disappear. Into the softness. Into her dream. As darkness fell over her, she realized that she had already learned something about herself. She learned, in the doctor’s cool hands, that she had been a virgin.
She awoke in a small but well-furnished room, lying on a soft bed, softer than any other bed she had ever slept on. The mist was gone. She lay on her back, feeling her damp skin against the cool, starched sheets, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the dull throb between her legs. Where another person would have drifted into the recall particular to waking, she only lay quite still and observed the interior of the room. The floor was covered with a rich oriental carpet. The walls were papered with literally hundreds of photographs of various sizes, and each photo was a shot of couples engaged in sexual satisfaction. The door was of some dark, polished wood, and very heavy. It was closed. She thought she was going to be sick.
The door opened and the nurse came in. She was a short, thick woman with sandy short hair and a tremendous bust that moved before her like an advance guard. A few strands of loose hair had fallen from under her small cap, and as she entered, she swiped at this nuisance, speaking as if to an old and inferior associate.
“Awake are you? I’m glad to see it. You know, you were much more difficult than the doctor had imagined. You gave us a bad time. I understand that you don’t know who you are, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to be uncivil. We ask no more of you than you truly want to give, and all we expect is respect and obedience. Now roll over and show me your bottom!”
This torrent so overcame the girl that she immediately obeyed, turning over onto her stomach and watching from the corner of her eye as the nurse drew the covers back.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, you little hussy! You’re like all the rest of them! Spend half your life worrying about the value of a little piece of skin, and the other half worrying about the value of a little hole. But you’re made nicely - I have to say that for you. Be still now. This won’t hurt a bit.”
With great expertise, the nurse inserted a vaseline-coated thermometer into the girl’s anus. It was cold, and she trembled a little as the instrument penetrated.
“So damned delicate. You’re all so damned delicate. There will come a time, my dear, when you will realize how much of your delicacy is physical and how much of it is purely imaginary. You’ll be a different person then, let me tell you. You’ll take more than a thermometer in that sweet little hole of yours, and take it without so much as batting an eyelid. But no one can tell you that now, can they? No, I suppose not. That’s the sort of thing you’ve got to learn for yourself!”
The nurse withdrew the thermometer and took a reading, her lips pursed and her eyes lidded as if she were trying to thread a needle. Then she grunted and put the instrument away.
“What do those pictures mean?” the girl asked.
“Oh, those!” the nurse didn’t bother to look at them. “They don’t mean anything. You can see, can’t you? That’s all they are, just pictures of people together.”
“But why?”
“You’re just full of the wrong questions, my dear,” the nurse snorted. “For a young lady who can’t remember her name or who she is, you are extraordinarily preoccupied with irrelevant matters. What’s wrong with you, anyway?”
The girl’s eyes brightened, and she turned onto her back, leaning up to look at the nurse.
“Do you know who I am? Please tell me, if you do. Have I been in an accident?”
The nurse wrote something on a chart and turned to leave the room. She stopped at the door and said over her shoulder in a contemptuous tone, “There isn’t anything accidental about this, my dear.”
Then she was alone.
The pain subsided, and she could relax a little. She pulled the covers up to conceal her ripe breasts. If she could remember a name, a phone number, an address ... but there was nothing! Nothing beside the mist, white and billowy, like clouds, but there! A man and a woman! Pale bodies, hair, eyes, vague outlines, and daubs of improbable color, like a child’s painting of a couple walking in the clouds.
Her mother and father?
She and her husband? Her son?
Her son and her daughter? But no, that was impossible. She was too young. She didn’t know how old she was, but she knew it would be a long time before she became middle-aged. The nurse was old enough to be her mother. If she had one.
Suddenly, she sat up and threw back the cover. Her legs were quite long and slim, and her ankles were thin and the calves nicely rounded, athletic. Her thighs, covered with peach-colored downy little hairs, were firm and blemishless.
Her sex looked strange because it was the first time she had seen it without its crown of oak-grained hair. The flesh was white as the inside of a turnip. She cautiously parted her labia until the clitoris was visible. It seemed unusually large, but then she couldn’t remember seeing it before, or anyone’s for that matter, and it was pink as salmon. The pain was gone entirely. She placed the soft tip of her forefinger on the pink button and began to caress it. Delicious sensations tingled into her thighs, and her stomach suddenly felt hollow, deep, and empty, and she craved for it to be filled. Perhaps feeding time was near. She thought of food and realized that food was not what she desired. It had something to do with her clitoris ... and the doctor!
But she hated him!
Her mind filled with contradictions, she was forced to lie down once more and close her eyes. The radiating warm glow between her legs made her drowsy.
If she hated the doctor, why did this wonderful arousal bring him to mind? And why had her clitoris seemed so strange when she could remember quite well the beautiful clump of oak-colored hair, which was now gone? Could it be that she had never bothered to examine her clitoris? Impossible, or was it?
It occurred to her that a good exercise for regaining her memory would be to call up absolutely everything which she could remember with ease, and then go on from there.
The doctor had been naked. She saw first the fleshy expanse of stomach, so near her eyes, then his chest and the meager sprinkle of curly black hairs. Had she looked at his face then? No, because he moved between her feet, and his knee came up onto the cot, then his other knee. Everything had been so dreamy. She was floating, with the nurse’s breasts in her face and his knees pushing her legs apart, so far apart she could feel the tendons on either side of her sex pulling taut. Then his face against hers. He was warm. His breath had been like warm water pouring over her breasts and neck. The pain didn’t come right away. First there had been the sensation of a blunt instrument pushing against her, then dampness, then his hand down there, and with one lunge he sent a shock of pain up her body, and she wanted to get away but couldn’t. The pain was joined by another feeling. A wonderful, almost ecstatic rushing that swept the pain into it and carried her deeper and deeper until she broke open and felt her soul pouring out in a bright dazzling gush, as if a thousand dams had burst deep inside her being.
Before the doctor there was whiteness, antiseptic odors, and a sense of confusion. Like trying to remember the sensation of coming and going at the same time.
She struggled with her mind until it became obvious that she was getting nowhere. Then, on an urge, she leaped from her bed and went to examine the photographs on the walls.
Most of them were in color, although the persons involved were not always the same. She was mildly surprised that the frank portrayals did not cause her any embarrassment. She had to admit they were exciting, but she felt no guilt. Why was she conscious of this? Could she do nothing without the questions appearing? She shrugged her shoulders and moved along the wall, occasionally touching one of the photos with her forefinger. Then she saw someone she thought she knew. It was a picture of a young girl on her knees in the middle of a bed. Between her legs lay a middle-aged man with a full beard and a thick shock of brown hair. His hands held the outside of her legs, and his mouth was buried in the grotto of the girl’s sex. She had her eyes closed and her head thrown back. She looked like she was laughing.
She examined the photo carefully. Yes, she was certain that she knew this brazen girl. And the man, he too seemed familiar. Was he a friend? Was she related to this girl who permitted herself to be photographed in those circumstances?
“Well, I’m happy to see that you’ve awakened, miss. For a few hours, I worried that I had given you too much anesthetic. But I see now that you’re fine. Are you hungry?”
It was the doctor. He had slipped in without calling her attention. She turned to him, moving instinctively back until she was up against the wall. She was painfully aware of her nudity. “What do you want?” she stammered.
“Now don’t be nervous, miss. I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help you, you know. You haven’t been well. You will make a complete recovery if you cooperate.”
“What’s wrong with me? Where am I? What is my name?”
The young doctor laughed and folded his arms, striking a pose of amusement and condescension. “Why don’t you get back into bed, and then I’ll see if I can answer some of those questions for you. All right?”
She scurried across the room and climbed into bed, careful to pull the cover up to her chin. The doctor sat on the side of the bed and looked down at her. She could not tell whether he was genuinely sympathetic or a very good actor.