How I Used Classical Conditioning to Train My GF

Lauren was in grad school studying psychology, and I used to crib training ideas from her textbooks all the time. One of the most famous psychology experiments ever, of course, was Pavlov’s dogs. Through classical conditioning, Pavlov trained his dogs to drool involuntarily at the sound of a bell by associating the bell with food.

Lauren and I were both curious: How effective would this sort of training be with a human? Could I condition her to respond that intensely to a trigger of my choosing? The answer was yes. Other experiments had been done with humans already. (Look up “Little Albert” if you wanna be depressed.) But we wanted to see for ourselves.

So I considered the specifics and pitched Lauren a protocol: I would condition her to spread her legs at the sound of a single word. It couldn’t be anything too obvious. It had to be something I could say in any situation without anyone thinking twice. I landed on “Relax” because it’s a common word, and also because I have an evil sense of humor and, as the joke goes, women hate being told to relax. We talked it over, and Lauren was on board.

The training was done in private. I would say “relax,” and she would have to part her thighs immediately, without hesitation. If she obeyed, she’d get a reward: praise; a kiss; a slow, teasing touch on her inner thigh; or I would massage her clit. If she hesitated, even for a moment, I’d deny her. Simple, right? Sure. But not easy.

It was a slow process. (If I totaled up all the time we spent on just this experiment, it would add up to several hours at least.) Sometimes she’d hesitate, sometimes she’d get frustrated or bored (Suck it up, Buttercup!)

But eventually, she started responding more quickly in spite of context, and seemingly without even thinking. I’d say “relax” around the apartment or in the middle of a scene, and her legs would part. Sometimes she’d bite her lower lip and close her eyes and grin at the thought of this elemental, supra-rational sort of submission. It turned me on too. God. Even today, I get rock hard just thinking about it.

The payoff came a few months after we started. We were at an engagement party with some of our vanilla friends. It took place on the outdoor patio of a restaurant. It was a crowded, loud event with lots of drinking and excitement for the hosting couple.

Lauren and I were seated toward the end of a long table—one of two—and people were chatting, drinking, and eating all around us.

At one point during the meal, Lauren was saying something to our friend, “Isabel,” across the table, and when she stopped talking to take a sip of wine, I leaned in close, my lips grazing her ear, and whispered, “Relax, sweetheart.”

I watched as her body tensed up, and before she could even think about it, her legs parted beneath the table. I actually felt her knee bump into mine.

Her face flushed, and I could almost feel her heart rate jump. The second she realized what she’d done, her eyes flicked to mine, wide with excitement and a little bit of shock. I smiled and rested my hand on her thigh.

The table was cluttered with food, water and wine glasses, plates, flowers, name cards. And everyone was still talking and eating, oblivious to my slowly creeping hand sliding up Lauren’s leg, beneath her dress and just out of sight.

I let my fingers trace along her inner thigh, brushing gently over her soft, warm skin. She froze and tried to control her breathing. Her hands gripped the edge of the table. I let my fingers linger there for a few moments, teasing just enough to make her squirm, and then I went for it and touched her clit through panties that were more than damp: They were downright soaked.

Isabel said something to her, and Lauren’s voice sounded a little off, a little higher pitched than usual when she responded.

I smirked and leaned back, satisfied, pulling my hand away and leaving her breathless and on edge. For the rest of the night, she kept looking at me nervously, her face turning crimson, terrified and excited that I would say “relax” again.

And I did—one more time—while we were walking back to my car. I pushed her up against the concrete wall of some public building and whispered “relax,” kissing her neck and meeting her tongue with mine as I pressed my knee between her open thighs.

She practically dragged me into the car.

That night, she didn’t just obey: She begged.

Pavlov would have been proud.