Part 1 1
AT THE ORGASM RESEARCH FOUNDATION Dr. Roger Prong, who was known by some foundation employees as "a bl**dy Peeping Tom" and a "horny old voyeur" was in fact very scientific, or so he always insisted as he watched the girls having orgasms.
At the laboratory, Josie Welch, already nude but with a single sheet demurely spread over her full and obviously glorious body, looked unhappy as Roger entered.
"They tell me there won't be any men today,"
she said as soon as she saw the doctor.
"That's right, my dear," he said with professional unction. "That part of your testing is finished. Today we move on to the part that you'll find even more gratifying."
The sheet slipped a bit, revealing several inches of round, tense breast. "You want me to try dames?" she asked with some confusion of emotions; curiosity and guilt flicked in her lovely blue eyes. "I never tried that scene before. I'm not queer, you know. But if it's for science, well, maybe... " She obviously was hoping to be convinced.
What a fantastic piece of hot lustful woman she was, Roger thought irrelevantly.
Research, a multimillion-dollar project dedicated to filling in the psychological intangibles left out of the pioneering research of Masters and Johnson. Since these psychological intangibles were—as Dr. Prong sometimes wittily remarked "both psychological and intangible, " there was no end to his research. Meanwhile the money came rolling in.
Roger was, according to a survey by a management analyst, one of the s*******n men in the United States who was totally happy with his job.
Other researchers sometimes expressed envy of this fact. "What red-bl**ded man, " one of them had once asked cynically, "wouldn't be happy supervising and observing other people's orgasms and pulling down a swift sixty grand a year for it?"
This was somewhat unfair to a dedicated scientist. Roger Prong was truly fascinated by orgasms—as Edison was by electricity—and had an inexhaustible curiosity about every possible factor involved in every possible orgasm, twitch, itch, moan, gibber, gasp, shudder, or howl connected with that dramatic biological tremor. Even more, however, he was fascinated by lines, curves, averages, graphs and every aspect of mathematics that could be clearly visualized. The world, for him, was made up of shapes, not things; of relations, not entities. He lived in a universe of forms that could be written as equations and traced on graph paper.
Above his desk was a motto suggested ironically by a skeptical friend. Dr. Prong saw nothing funny about it at all and adopted it as his own banner: SCIENCE, PURE SCIENCE, AND DAMNED BE HE WHO FIRST CRIES "HOLD, TOO MUCH!"
As he often said in his high-paid lectures to medical societies, psychiatric conventions, YMCA's and PTA's, "It's just not true that 'if you've seen one orgasm, you've seen them all. ' Why, Heracleitus—a great Greek philosopher who wrote over 109 fragments—once said that you can't step into the same river twice, because it's changing every second and so are you. Well, a man can't step into the same vagina twice, either. "
Dr. Prong had supervised 23, 017 orgasms to date, and his curiosity was still strong.
As he settled himself at his desk, he observed that Miss Taylor, his secretary, had already poured his coffee for him. Fine: the girl was really getting broken to the harness. Neatly, he whipped out his thermometer and measured the black liquid in the cup. 98. 4 degrees. Excellent: she was learning to meet his exact demands.
Dr. Prong could not abide inexactitude or sloppiness in any human activity. "A thing worth doing, " he would explain to his subordinates, "is worth doing right. " He said this often, and malicious members of the staff said it even more often, when he was out of earshot, with a tone and an expression that were caricatures of his own.
With a smile on his lips and a glint in his eye, Roger Prong buzzed Miss Taylor. "What's first for today?" he asked cheerfully, eager to plunge directly back into the thick of things, as was typical of him on Monday mornings.
"Subject in laboratory three, " the secretary said in a trained and neutral tone. "An m. o. "
Roger was immediately entranced. The m. o. project was one of his pet investigations. The initials stood for multiorgasmic, and the research was devoted to finding how many orgasms a truly multiorgasmic woman could have in a single sex session. The lack of this data in scientific literature often struck Dr. Prong as a particularly telling example of the horrible influence of puritanism in preventing important discoveries. "After all, " as he said to his colleagues when outlining this project, "we know the tallest mountain in the world, and the longest river, and the biggest star in the galaxy, and where the Pacific Ocean is deepest, and who wrote the longest novel in history, and even who ate the most pies in all the pie-eating contests since records were kept on that. Isn't it terrible that we don't know the cum champion of the world?"
It was Roger's habit to talk in racy and slangy terms on occasion when addressing foundation employees. "It relieves the tension. " he would explain if a visitor was upset. "Call a spade, a spade, " he would add emphatically, unless the visitor happened to be black.
Miss Welch was the latest candidate for possible cum champion. She had been fetched—along with quite a few washouts and pretenders—by an ad the foundation had placed in various underground newspapers throughout the nation:
No, this is not a seduction come-on. An important scientific project requires a woman who loves sex even more than she loves breathing. If this fits you, write to Box 23, Chicago, General Post Office.
$500 fee, discretion guaranteed. An equal opportunity employer.
The neurotic, the scrawny, the unattractive had answered in droves, and weeding them out had taken a long time. Miss Welch—Josie, to her friends—seemed to be the real article, at least according to the preliminary tests the previous week in which she had exhausted ten strong men, including the original Cuban Superman who had been found and hired by the foundation at great expense.
Today, the real test would be given.
Roger Prong's eyes sparkled at the thought. Some foundation employees having seen the gleam were known to remark among themselves that the good doctor was "a bl**dy Peeping Tom" or "a horny old voyeur. " In fact, his anticipation was, as he always insisted, largely scientific. He was truly curious to see what number would finally emerge as the total number of single-session orgasms by the world's cum champion.
Twirling his dapper bow tie debonairly, Roger Prong, physician and scientist, strode down the hall to Laboratory three.
Josie Welch, already nude but with a single sheet demurely spread over her full and obviously glorious body, looked unhappy as Roger entered.
"They tell me there won't be any men today, "
she said as soon as she saw the doctor.
"That's right, my dear, " he said with professional unction. "That part of your testing is finished. Today we move on to the part that you'll find even more gratifying. "
The sheet slipped a bit, revealing several inches of round, tense breast. "You want me to try women?" she asked with some confusion of emotions; curiosity and guilt flickered in her lovely blue eyes. "I never tried that scene before. I'm not queer, you know. But if it's for science, well, maybe.... " She obviously was hoping to be convinced.
What a fantastic piece of hot lustful woman she was, Roger thought irrelevantly. Despite his scientific attitude, he felt himself secretly longing for the moments ahead when the sheet would finally be swept aside to reveal that incredible body which had appeared in his dreams twice over the weekend. With an effort, he resumed his professional manner.
"No, " he said quietly. "No—er—women. What we have in mind harks back to some of the early Masters-Johnson research. We intend to use the artificial coital equipment—the ACE, we call it. "
"A machine?" she said, disappointed. "I don't know if I can really—uh, respond—to a machine. "
"You can, my dear, you can, " Dr. Prong said softly. "We've never had a woman in this type of experiment who didn't express that doubt at first, and we never had one who didn't respond- magnificently. Believe me, Miss Welch. "
"You can call me Josie, " she said demurely. The sheet slipped an inch further. In a minute, if it kept slipping, that gorgeous nipple—like a chocolate gumdrop, he thought—would be visible. God was kind, Roger thought abstractly, to give such a horny wench just the kind of voluptuous overripe body that attracted all the men she wanted.
"First of all, " he said professionally, "you must choose the—ah—penile surrogate. " At her blank glance, he added "The imitation cock that suits you best. " Turning, he called to one of the technicians, "Joe, bring over the sticks. That's our local slang, " he added to Miss Welch—Josie, he corrected himself mentally.
He also cursed, not for the first time, the professional standards that would ruin his career if he ever touched one of the experimental subjects.
Josie was very tempting, and she knew it.
"Here they are, " said Joe, a youngster built like a bull. As always, he looked a bit embarrassed to be presenting these objects to a female experimental subject. In his hands he held a tray with five realistic-looking plastic penes upon it, in varying sizes. Josie hesitated, for once seeming to feel embarrassed herself.
"We have nicknames for them, " Roger said smoothly, to distract her from negative emotion. "The little one is the Casper Milquetoast. The others, in ascending order are the Errol Flynn, the Primo Carnera, the Sword of Conan, and, ha ha, the King Kong. "
The girl's eyes were a bit glazed. "I'll take the King Kong, " she said hoarsely.
God, what a horny bitch, Roger thought. She was obviously turning on already. He made a note on his pad: "Susceptible to visual stimuli—penes. " - "Set it up, " he said to Joe. The young technician retreated, the back of his neck somewhat red.
"You will control the equipment yourself, " he began explaining to Josie, having some trouble in meeting her out-of-focus eyes. "By moving the handle that will be next to your right hand, you can increase or decrease the speed and also the depth of thrust. Now, the object as I have explained is to measure your m. o. q. — your...
multiorgasmic quotient—so all you have to think about is enjoying yourself just as much as your little heart desires, ha ha. " What man of mere flesh and bl**d, he wondered privately, could satisfy the hunger in those tense eyes of hers?
Joe wheeled over the ACE machine and affixed it on the foot of the bed, guiding it at the proper angle to give her hand access to the handle. It looked like an ithyphallic robot. The King Kong penis dangled, impressively, just above the crotch hairs slightly visible through the thin white sheet. Joe's neck was redder than ever. "All set, " he said brightly, and retreated to the door.
Joe couldn't bear to watch these performances ever since the time he had come in his trousers, to the amusement of another technician.
Josie Welch reached out a tentative hand and felt the gigantic penis hovering above her midsection. "It's not cold, " she said gratefully.
"We keep it at body temperature. There are microscopic heating coils inside, " Roger explained.
There was a pause. He watched her hand moving along the gigantic shaft. In imagination, he vividly felt the same hand upon his shaft. I am a professional, he reminded himself sternly.
"Well, " he said. "Any time you're ready. "
"I get $500 toward next year's tuition, " the girl
said hoarsely. "And it's for science. "
"That's right, " he said. "For science. "
"$500, " she repeated.
"$500, " he agreed, humoring her. They both knew she would do it for free. He had never seen such a way-out look in the eyes of any und**gged female.
"Take the sheet off me, " she whispered.
"I can't do that, " Roger said, straining to avoid a break in his voice, his eyes on the crotch beneath the sheets. "You know I can't touch you or the bed in any way. Professional ethics. "
"Oh, yes, " she said. "I forgot, "
There was another pause.
. "For science, " he said gently.
"For science, " she agreed. Slowly, she pushed the sheet down, revealing those globes that had twice tormented his sl**p. She must be at least a forty-two, he thought, and who ever saw such enormous nipples before? Then, with more determination, she pushed the sheet the rest of the way in one motion and kicked it from the bed. She was nude before him.
Josie Welch had a body, as one of her lovers had once remarked, "that would make a Bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window. " From the tip of her blonde head to her lovely little toes, she was only five feet and two inches, but in that space were the breasts and hips of a pagan mother-goddess, with the waist of a Petty Girl. Her belly was remarkably flat, tapering down to an authentic blonde bush, glistening with the sweat of her mounting desire. The thighs, white as cream, were full and rounded. The lower legs tapered prettily.
But his eyes darted back again to her bush, gold and glittering, as she moved the handle of the ACE machine and lowered the penis to nudge the bottom hairs,
"Er, you can use it on the clitoris first, gently, to lubricate yourself, " Roger said controlling his voice.
"I'm lubricated already, " she said in a strangled voice, and the first three inches of King Kong pushed into the bush, her lips expanding around it. Those lips were the clearest pink Roger had ever seen on any woman and he felt a wave of dizziness as he identified with the machine. Her eyes, he noted, were still open for a second, but completely out of focus. Then she closed them and began pulling the handle rhythmically. She was trying to take all f******n inches immediately.
With some awe, he saw that she had actually succeeded. My God, what a vaginal expansion, he thought. He began jotting rapidly. "Nipples fully erect at twenty-three seconds. Sex-flush on breasts and neck at thirty seconds. Subject says 'God' quite clearly at thirty-six seconds.... "
The gigantic penis called King Kong, as the scientist was writing, was creating an uproar in the nervous system of Miss Josephine Welch, the subject. As it slipped and slid in her moist pussy, she felt as if she were floating and allowed her left hand to run down her body, over the breasts, down over her belly into the bush. Rhythmically, in time with hot fast fucking motion of the warm shaft inside her, she rubbed the bush, while the other hand slowly increased the King Kong motion. In her mind's eye she was not having sex at all, but dancing with an attractive professor at her college. As they whirled in tune to the music, she imagined his wife in a corner of the dance floor glaring at her with hate, and she pressed harder against his body, feeling the real penis in this fantasy blur-world moving harder and faster inside her. Oh, my cunt, she thought, my cunt is on fire. My cunt is on fire. She was shouting it, "My cunt is on fire. " The professor's wife was choking with rage.
"On fire, " she heard Doctor Prong mumble as he scribbled another note. Immediately, the professor vanished from her internal movie screen, ACE vanished with him, and she visualized Dr. Prong upon the bed, ramming his own prick into her. "On fire, " she shouted again, "On fire, and I'm....
Indeed, she was. "One, " Dr. Prong said hoarsely, making a note. He watched as the giant plastic penis stopped; she was too far gone to move the handle, breathing like a horse crossing the finishing line at Hialeah. With an effort, she summoned the energy to push the handle a few more times. Then she rested, all f******n hot realistic inches inside her.
"It was wonderful, " she murmured absently.
"Not at all like a machine. Not like I was afraid it would be. The man who designed this was a genius. " He noticed her hand moving toward the handle again, and King Kong slowly began to withdraw from her red and moist pussy-mouth. When it was three-quarters of the way out, he estimated, or about ten inches out, she slowly eased it back in again. "It was better than a man, " she said sl**pily. (He had heard that before, and he always unprofessionally ached at the thought. ) "No man could be so big and so hard for so long, " she added, moving it again in a slow in-and-out arc. Dr. Prong f***ed himself to hold his breath, trying to stifle his beginning erection by starving it for oxygen. She was moving the handle quite rhymically. "And I can keep this up as long as I want, " she said dreamily.
"Yes, " he said. "That's the object. To find out just how much you really, truly, want. "
But she wasn't really listening. The giant penis was moving quite rapidly again, and she was off in her dreams. "Oh, fuck me, " he heard her murmur quietly once. "Oh, fuck me, darling, fuck me. " Then she lost all control of her hand, and the machine stopped. Only her own spasm created the friction that drove her over the edge into insane ecstasy of coming again. He watched in awe as her hungry cunt leaped up the shaft of the giant cock again and again and again. "My cunt, my cunt, " he heard her mutter in delerium. "Oh, my darling cunt. " It was the complete narcissistic experience: masturbation without a shadow of guilt or fear. Dr. Prong envied the younger generation. She actually felt no shame about being in love with her own internal organs.
But he had misjudged the girl's romantic soul.
"What do you call this again?" she asked a few moments later, as she was beginning the slow in-and-out motions in her lovely blonde bush again.
"ACE, " he said. "Artificial Coital Equipment. "
"Ace, " she breathed. "Why, what a lovely name. " And then, as the motions slowly increased, he heard her mutter occasionally, "Ace, do it to me, baby, " and "Ace, fuck me, fuck my hot cunt, you devil, " and "Ace, you're so big and strong, you darling, you devil, you darling devil, " and so on—girl-talk, that kind of thing—until he was practically choking in his attempts to maintain scientific objectivity and stifle his rubbery and trembling cock. Watching that adorable creature, so young, so blonde, so pagan, fucking that machine and talking to it like a lover—well, he had observed many such sessions before, but never with such a beautiful girl, or one so frankly erotic.
Josie herself, that sublime heathen, was off in a new fantasy in which ACE was talking back to her in the sensuous, somewhat faggotty, somewhat sinister but undoubtedly sub—or super-human voice of HAL, the whacked-out computer from
2001: A Space Odyssey.
"All the way, Josie, " he was saying, "we're going all the way this time. All the way to Jupiter. " And somewhere the monolith theme was playing, a haunting poly-rhythm exactly in time to the slow pulsations of her vaginal muscles as she gripped the enormous penis, relaxed, gripped it again, and felt it driving higher and higher within the tenderest and most sensitive part of her. Ace was not like other men: he did exactly what she wanted in the very split second that she wanted it. (In her delirium, she had quite forgotten that she was manipulating the control handle. ) With mounting passion she bucked her magnificent pelvis upward, forcing her cunt lips higher and higher on the f******n-inch shaft, gibbering with raw sensation, "Oh, you brutal bastard, you god, fuck the piss and shit out of me."
Dr. Prong's face had a curious, ashy-white color. Science and professional ethics were crumbling. He wanted to leap upon he bed, throw the ACE machine to the floor and take her. His erection was pulsating and his vision was red with pain and need. "To hell with the A. M. A., " he muttered thickly, lurching forward.
Just then the phone rang.....