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Orgasmatron

By: drlust



I heard the first whispers about it in early February. A researcher in biosciences was said to be working on some sort of sexual response research that was attracting lots and lots of corporate money. The rumors ranged from the development of the ultimate aphrodisiac to hints that this person had figured out what part of the brain made a person gay and could switch it on or off by modifying a gene. As titillating as the rumors were, I dismissed them as the idle gossip of bored and sex-starved professors.

Me dismissing them didn't make them go away though. Throughout the spring semester I kept hearing bits and pieces from colleagues, usually with a nudge or a wink or the rolling of eyes. The only evidence I could see that something big was happening was in the Provost's annual report, which included a line on some very large corporate donations to the biosciences program for "path breaking research."

It was at an end-of-year cocktail party at a neighbor's house that I found out who the mystery researcher was, although it took me longer to find out what was actually going on. This particular party was an annual ritual that my friends and neighbors Bob and Mary Alice staged the day after graduation. Everyone's grades had been turned in for several days, the students were all dispersed to the winds, and the campus was emptying out fast. 

Bob and Mary Alice live three doors down the street from me in what we like to call the "faculty ghetto," a neighborhood of older Victorian houses, none of which are rented to hordes of students. They've got a big back yard and set up half a dozen grills and a full bar and invite every faculty member they know to come and unwind. Even people they don't know show up, which is just fine with the hosts. The point is to have fun and forget that classes start again in 12 weeks.

I'd arrived early in the day to help with the grilling—I'm the master of the bar-b-que ribs and supervise four large smoker grills. This, of course, requires the supervision of a cooler of beer strategically placed under a shade tree nearby. By the time the guests arrived six hours later, the ribs were done and I was sobering up a bit, having supervised the cooler a bit too strenuously at the start of my cooking.

Over the next several hours I took dripping slabs of ribs to the chopping block just behind the smokers, whacked them into individual servings with a large cleaver I bought for just such a need, and then set them on the main serving table for people to ooh and ahh over. The key is to stagger the batches over a couple of hours so that the ribs keep coming throughout the high point of the party. It's a dirty, smoky and hot job, but hey, somebody's got to do it.

Around 4:30, the last of the ribs were on the table, minus a half dozen I'd reserved for myself, and I was safely ensconced in my lawn chair next to my cooler, digging in to the bounty of my labors. As I watched about 100 or so of my colleagues mix and mingle (a couple of them were already staggering just a bit), I noticed an attractive woman around my age (I'm 46) messing with my smokers. She was opening each lid in turn and looking inside with a slightly sad expression on her otherwise attractive face.

"Looking for something?" I called out to her from the shade.

"Ribs," she said, turning to face me. She was a tall woman, maybe 5'10" and athletic looking in her shorts and t-shirt. "I missed the ribs and I was wondering if there were any left."

Ruefully, I looked down at the five I had left on my plate, then did the gallant thing, "If there aren't any more on the table, pull up a chair and I'll share mine."

"Oh no," she said, shaking her head sadly. "I couldn't do that. I saw how hard you were working over here earlier. Go ahead. Eat your ribs."

"Absolutely not," I replied. "The grill master must share his wealth. Seriously, pull up a chair."

"Well, okay," she said. "Let me go get some sides."

As she walked away from me to the main table, I couldn't help noticing that she was as attractive from behind as she was from the front. Not a stunner, but certainly attractive. She had shoulder length light brown hair, broad shoulders and legs that went on and on.

A couple of minutes later she returned carrying a plate piled high with sides—clearly she was hungry—and was dragging a lawn chair behind her. I would have stood to help her, but she seemed to have the situation under control.

"I'm Tom," I said. "Master of the smoked meats."

"I'm Christina," she said. "Acolyte of the smoked meats." Then she laughed. It was a hearty laugh that made her breasts jiggle in an alluring way. "Let me go get a beer and I'll be all set."

"You are all set already," I said, patting my cooler. "I'm well stocked."

"You've done this before, haven't you?" she asked.

"My thirteenth year," I replied, a note of pride in my voice. I reached into the cooler, pulled out an icy Heineken, popped the top and handed it to her once she'd gotten comfortable in her chair. Like me, she'd chosen one of those fold out chairs that can lie all the way back. Then I handed her three of my remaining five ribs.

"Thanks," she said again. "You're very nice to share."

"Like I said, ma'am, it's my duty."

"Well, lucky me then to have come along before you had eaten all yours." She smiled at me again. It was a nice smile. "What department are you in?"

"History," I said after I'd finished chewing a large piece of meat I'd just torn from the bone. "You?"

"Biosciences," she said, doing like me and tearing into the meat with her teeth.

"Ah..." I said.

"Ah?" she asked after she'd chewed and swallowed. "What's that mean, 'Ah'?"

"Well," I began between bites. "I've been hearing rumors all semester long about some tawdry sex thing going on in your laboratories over there."

She took a long pull on her beer before answering and then said, "Ah indeed. Yes, it's all very tawdry actually."

"So you admit it then?" I asked, getting into the game. "Naked students running around the lab and all that?"

"I wish," she said. "No, nothing quite that tawdry."

"Do you mind if I ask for specifics," I prodded. "I can keep a secret."

She looked at me closely for a second or two, took another pull on her beer, then said, "Sure, you can ask, but I won't tell." Then she laughed. Boy did her breasts jiggle when she laughed!

"No, seriously," she said after she'd finished off her first rib. "It's me who's doing the research and, well, given the rumors that are flying around campus, I'd rather not say what I'm doing. You can understand that, can't you?"

"I'm deeply offended and disappointed," I said with mock Indignation. "I share the last of the ribs with you and now you clam up on me at the moment of truth!"

"You did say it was your duty," she chided me.

"Got me there," I said. To mask my disappointment, I cracked us each another beer, which she gladly accepted. "Tell me about something else then to assuage my hurt feelings."

"Fair enough," she said. "I'll tell you how I got into this line of work in the first place. It's a story that will just make you want to know more. When I was an undergrad I wrote my senior thesis on the social construction of frigidity. I had heard the term used a number of times to describe girls I knew who didn't want to have sex with men, or with specific men any way, and it really pissed me off, so I decided to learn how our society came to describe some women as frigid. I learned a lot, but one thing that I hadn't expected, was that there really were women who experienced no pleasure from sex. Given my own experiences, I couldn't imagine what that must have been like and it saddened me. They were missing out on so much. So, when I went to graduate school, I ended up studying the science of human sexual response. And, by the way, I also found out that there were men who also had never experienced an orgasm."

This last bit was news to me. "No shit," I said. "Now that is sad."

"Yeah, most men say that when I tell them," she said. "You aren't one of those men, then?"

"Moi?" I said, hand on chest in mock alarm. "I should say not."

"Well, that's a good thing then," she said. Before I could follow up on what seemed like a possible proposition, she asked me about my own work and the moment passed. The two of us sat happily under our tree, swilling beer, gossiping about the colleagues we could see in the milling crowd, and getting progressively smashed. As the evening stretched toward night, Bob turned on the strings of tacky little paper lanterns he'd hung from trees all over the yard.

The crowd was waning and so, alas, was my supply of beer. That was probably a good thing, because I was definitely drunk and if I had been sober, I could have judged whether Christina was too. She sure seemed drunk.

At last, she put down her final beer and said, "I better get out of here. No way I'm going to drive home in this condition, and it's a good half a mile to my house. If I'm lucky, I won't get lost on the way."

Ever the gallant host, I said, "I insist on walking you home. Between the two of us, we ought to be just sober enough to find your house."

She batted her eyes at me and said, "Offer accepted."

We spent a minute cleaning up our mess, mostly by dumping it all in my cooler which I told her I'd planned to pick up the next day in any case, and then we wove our way through the last of the revelers and out onto the sidewalk. Christina paused for a moment considering, then turned and headed off to the right with just a wee bit of a weave. Yep, she was drunk alright. Takes one to know one.

On the way to her house, which I'm proud to say we managed to get to without one detour, we continued our idle banter about colleagues, the university, and other topics of no meaning—both of us clearly trying to avoid talking about anything important.

When we reached her front walk, she took my hand in hers, gave it a squeeze and, with a slight slurring of her words, said, "Tom, I'm too drunk to fuck, otherwise I'd invite you in."

"Baloney," I said. "If you could walk this far unaided, you can fuck. No doubt about it."

"No," she said a bit more firmly. "I hate to fuck when I'm this drunk. But I do want to fuck you, so maybe we could have dinner tomorrow?"

I gave her hand a squeeze back and said, "I'd love that. Your place or mine?"

"Come over here," she said. Then, giggling, "That is, if you can remember how to get here when you wake up tomorrow."

"Don't you worry about that, my dear," I replied. "I've never yet missed an offer of a free dinner from a beautiful woman."

"'kay," she said. "Get out of here then. And don't kiss me! I've got a nosy old bat of a neighbor and I don't want to give her the satisfaction."

"I'll have to wait until tomorrow, then," I said. I gave her hand one last squeeze, turned and weaved my way back toward my own house, my thoughts already turning to large doses of aspirin washed down with quarts of water to stave off the hangover that was sure to greet me tomorrow morning.

***

I was indeed hung over the next morning, but not nearly as badly as I had expected...and certainly not so hung over that I might forget to call Christina. Given the pounding in my own head, I waited until noon before calling and, given the croakiness of her voice when she answered, it was a good thing I hadn't called sooner.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten that I invited you," she said in response to my query. "Be here at 7:30 and bring some white wine. We're having seafood."

I puttered around the house for a couple of hours waiting for the worst of my hangover to subside, then went to the gym and swam 3,000 yards to clear out any of the last vestiges of the day before from my system. By the time I got home, I was refreshed and ready for what promised to be a very enjoyable evening.

Armed with two fairly expensive bottles of white and dressed in one of my best Polynesian shirts—it was the first day full day of summer vacation after all—I arrived at Christina's front door at exactly 7:35...on time, but a tactful few minutes late. She greeted me with a smile, took the wine and ushered me in. Because I'd come in very casual attire, I was glad to see that she was also dressed to relax—another pair of nicely fitting shorts and a pale green polo shirt that clung to her very nicely. I noticed that her breasts seemed a bit larger than I had remembered them. Yum.

"I was planning to grill some shrimp but then I remembered that you are the self-proclaimed 'Master' of the grill, so I didn't want to do anything that might harm your self-image," she said playfully as she poured us each a healthy glass of wine.

"Madam," I said. "I am very secure in my manhood and my status as the 'Master', so in future, please do not refrain from cooking any which way you want."

"Okay 'Master' Tom," she replied. "For tonight, though, it's scampi on the stove."

"Works for me," I said, following her as she led the way to her back screen porch. We sat for a moment enjoying the evening air and the wine, and then she said, "Thanks for not pressing me about my research yesterday. Everyone here is so damned nosy about it."

"Hey," I said. "Don't worry about it. I figure it's your business and you'll tell me about it if and when you want to."

"Actually," she replied, "I'd like to tell you about it now. I'd rather it didn't sit there in the corner of the room staring at us, making us both uncomfortable."

"Okay," I said. "I'm all ears and, as I said yesterday, I can keep a secret."

"Thanks," she said. Then, clearly screwing herself up a bit, she took a gulp from her glass, set it down and began. 

"Like I told you yesterday, this all started when I wrote an undergraduate thesis on frigidity. In my MA program I learned that while we know a lot about how the human body responds to sexual stimulation, what we know less about is why it doesn't. That is, why some minority of people seem unable to achieve orgasm, regardless of the stimuli. For some people diagnosed as dysfunctional, the problem is largely psychological, but for a very small minority, their bodies simply won't orgasm. As it turns out, the numbers of men and women in this small group are about the same, as near as we can tell."

"For the past decade I've been working on this problem. Most of my colleagues have tended to see it as a combination of psychological and physiological factors, but my research has led me to conclude that for those who truly cannot achieve orgasm, the real problem is entirely physiological."

"Sort of like how some people simply cannot read, no matter what learning strategies we use with them?" I interjected.

"Sort of like that," she said. "The brain is a hugely and wonderfully complex organ and at the moment we understand about ten percent of its functioning pretty well. The rest of it remains largely a mystery to us. However, when it comes to orgasm, we've been able to identify that region of the brain that triggers the final response—the part that pushes us over the edge from almost cumming to the actual explosion. For the past six years I've focused entirely on that region of the brain and have learned a lot about what goes on when orgasm occurs or doesn't."

"At the moment of truth, you might call it, the cells there release a particular protein that stimulates a cluster of nerves in just the right ways. Those nerves then send a pulse to the subject's genitalia and the orgasm begins. Some people's brains just don't release that protein, no matter what's happening in their crotches, and so they never reach orgasm."

"That would be terrible," I said. "To be able to get close but never get there."

"Yes," she said. "Most people in this category lead very unhappy lives. A few manage to convince themselves that intimacy doesn't require orgasm and others find peace in celibacy. But most are just sad, frustrated and sometimes even suicidal."

"I can imagine," I said.

"No," she corrected me. "You probably can't. If you're like most people, you've been having orgasms since you were a teenager and so you just can't really know how difficult it is for these folks."

"Sorry," I said. "I meant I can imagine that it is terrible, not what exactly it feels like."

"Or doesn't," she added. "Let's go eat and I'll finish the story in the dining room."

So I followed her into the kitchen where she cooked the scampi, set out our plates and handed me one. At the table, we both munched contentedly for a moment—she was as good a cook as I, maybe better—and then she continued her story.

"I published a number of papers on my first findings and lots of my colleagues were interested. I even sold a couple of patents to one of the big pharmaceutical companies and they've been trying to develop a drug that will allow the brain to release those blocked proteins. My own work has continued on a slightly different track."

"I wanted to know if it would be possible to force the brain to release the missing protein through direct stimulation. If so, then the development of such drugs would be easier and faster because we'd be able to see what caused the brain to do its thing at the crucial moment. That is, we could observe the physiological changes that occur and then could develop a drug to cause those to happen."

I poured us a third glass of wine and then asked, "How would you do that?"

She smiled. "That's the secret," she said. "That's the part I've been working on for the past two years and the part that's gotten my corporate partners all in a lather. You see, I've had very good results in monkeys for the past year and the FDA has now given me the go ahead to begin human trials on my procedure."

"What do you do, put them in an Orgasmatron like the one in that old Woody Allen movie?"

She laughed at that, making those breasts of hers jiggle again for me. "You'd laugh to see that one of my doctoral students actually stuck a picture of Woody Allen in that robot get up on the equipment we use. So yes, we call it the Orgasmatron. But no, it's not a booth like that. Instead, it's a variety of interventions, with the most important being electromagnetic stimulation of carefully targeted regions of the brain. There is also very mild stimulation of the genitalia, but it's what we do with the brain that makes the real difference. If you like, I'll show it to you one of these days."

"I would be very interested to see it," I said, pushing my plate away. I'd had the chance to eat while I listened, but she was behind. "You go ahead and eat now and I'll regale you with tales of my huge government grants for the study of history." 

We both laughed at that. Nobody gives historians huge grants for anything.

For dessert we had fruit tart and espresso back out on the porch. The fireflies were out in force and a pleasant breeze was blowing. Altogether, it was a wonderful evening to sit and chat amiably with a new friend who, I hoped, would be a new lover shortly.

When Christina finally put down her cup, I took the bull by the horns and said, "Christina, last night you said you were too drunk to fuck. And tonight I notice that we've both been very restrained in our consumption of alcohol. I hope that means you and I will be able to see if we're mutually orgasmic."

"I thought you'd never ask," she replied. "Follow me."

Like a puppy on its way to dinner, I followed her through the dining room and up the stairs. Watching her ass float before me as I mounted those stairs had a positive effect on my cock, which was now at way more than half-mast. At the top of the stairs we turned right into a large master bedroom with a four-poster bed and lots of pillows. Before she could take another step, I took hold of her arm and spun her around. Her face came up to mine and our lips collided, tongues lashing outward to dance back and forth against one another.


Orgasmatron



Christina pressed herself against me hungrily and my hands wandered through her hair, down her back, over the cheeks of her ass and back to her face. Our kissing was passionate, but not hurried. The night was young and, being in our forties, we knew that lovemaking is best when it is not rushed. Her breasts felt hard and full against my chest and I did like the way she was grinding her pelvis into my crotch.

It was Christina who broke the clench, dropping to her knees and beginning to unzip my shorts. As she tugged them down, my cock, now fully hard, sprang out to meet her and she took it in her hand, stroking it firmly and surely. "Mmmmm," she murmured. "A very nice cock, Tom."

"Thanks," I groaned under her touch. "Thanks."

She helped me to step out of my shorts and then began a slow, almost leisurely sucking of my cock. This was a woman who knew what she was doing. At one moment her head was bobbing up and down, most of my shaft disappearing into the heat of her mouth, at the next, she was nibbling and licking at the head, teasing me horribly. Then she would take her mouth away altogether and stroke me ever so lightly with her nails, or very firmly with one hand, while the other fondled my balls. After a good ten minutes or so of this treatment, I could feel my orgasm building. Since she was an expert on orgasmic response, I was sure she could feel it too. Sure enough, she began sliding as much of my cock as she could take in and out of her mouth in a rhythmic stroke all the while sucking very hard, as though she was trying to draw all the blood in my cock into the head. Just as I reached that final point of no return, her hands flew to my balls and ass, fondling me roughly as spurt after spurt of sperm burst from me and into the back of her mouth. I groaned loudly and did my best not to fall down as I came.

As my spurting subsided, Christina released me from her mouth and stroked my cock around the base, avoiding the now too sensitive head. "Well," she said. "You certainly are able to achieve orgasm without difficulty."

"A better way to put it would be that you can make me cum without difficulty," I croaked. Then I bent down and took her hand, raising her to her feet. "Your turn now."

I led her to the bed and slowly undressed her, letting each part of her body appear slowly to my gaze. Then I sat her on the edge of the bed, pushing her onto her back. Standing between her legs, I gazed down at her body. She was amazingly sexy, lying there with a fleck of my sperm in the corner of her mouth, the deep red nipples on her full breasts standing up pertly and the odors of her excitement rising up from between her legs.

Dropping to my knees, I worshiped her pussy the same way she'd worshipped my cock, bringing her to the edge of orgasm several times before finally letting her push over the edge. When she came, she grabbed my hair with both hands and ground my face into her crotch so hard it was almost painful. I kept licking and sucking on her clit and she kept grinding against me and, sure enough, a second orgasm, not quite as powerful as the first, swept over her. This time, instead of grinding my face into her, she pushed me away violently. I rolled back to a more upright position and watched her cover her cunt with her palm as her thigh muscles twitched.

"Nice," she said. "Very nice."

"Yes," I agreed. "It seems that you, unlike me, are multi-orgasmic."

"True," she said. "But not always. You're very good."

"Thanks," I said. "I aim to please."

For some reason, that made her giggle and let me tell you, her naked breasts jiggled even more attractively than they did encased in her bra.

We snuggled up together in bed and stroked one another lightly for several minutes, before making love again. This time she rode me to another orgasm for each of us, at which point we fell back exhausted.

I was on the edge of sleep when she whispered to me, "You could be multi-orgasmic too, you know."

"I could?" I asked, waking up just a bit.

"Sure," she said. "Remember, I'm an expert on such things."

"Are you going to show me your expertise right now?" I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"No," she said. "I'll show you tomorrow. Go to sleep now."

With visions of sugarplums...okay, with visions of her tits bouncing up and down as she rode my cock...I fell asleep in her arms.

***

The next day, I tried to entice her into the shower with the offer of wet and soapy sex, but she just laughed and said, "Not if you want me to show you my lab. We've got to save your strength."

This sounded like fun, so I showered up and came downstairs to breakfast. She'd made us eggs, bacon and strong coffee and we perused the morning paper for a minute while we ate. Then she excused herself so she could shower and I drank another cup of coffee. 

Twenty minutes or so later she reappeared, again dressed in shorts and a different polo shirt and said, "So, are you ready to see the lab?"

"Sure," I said. "Lead the way."

She drove to campus and I was jealous to see that she had a parking space right outside her building. I guess big corporate grants come with many perks. With the summer break on us, the place was largely deserted. We had to pass through two different secure doors just to get into the inner sanctum of her offices, but neither saw nor heard anyone else in the building. There were computers everywhere, some running programs that were producing graphics I didn't pretend to understand, others quietly humming but with blank screens. Finally, we made it to her office, a windowless and sterile room filled with files and what appeared to be a couple of awards for research excellence on the wall.

"Welcome to the nerve center of my research," she said. "Pretty grim, isn't it."

"Yes," I replied. "I was jealous of your parking spot, but at least my office has a window."

That made her laugh. I really liked that laugh, and not just because of what her tits did when she laughed. "Before I show you the lab itself, I thought I'd show you a videotape of some of our animal trials. These are chimps. We use them because physiologically they are closest to humans. You aren't violently opposed to animal testing are you."

"Not me," I said truthfully. It was an issue that some of my colleagues got very worked up over, but it really wasn't on my radar screen.

"Good," she replied. On a shelf to her left were several digital videotapes and one of these she put into a player. The screen flickered to life and on it I saw Christina in a lab coat, gloves and goggles, explaining to the viewer what was about to happen. In the background was a large chimpanzee lying on its back on a lab table, a pillow under its head and a series of wires attached to its head, chest, thighs and groin.

"Subject number 47 is a five year-old male in normal health. This is the third trial on subject number 47, the previous trial having taken place one week ago. Notice that the subject is not resisting the test, although he is restrained to protect the equipment. We have found that none of the subjects have resisted subsequent iterations of the testing. Clearly they find it pleasurable."

As I looked at the chimp, I could see that number 47 was male, because the wires in his crotch led to some sort of a white mesh bag that was slipped over his penis. That penis was erect and I was surprised to see that it was larger than I would have imagined. I'd seen smaller monkeys with hardons at the zoo before, but never chimps. 

The perspective in the video now shifted and Christina's voice over continued, "In this image of the subject's brain you can see the target region highlighted in red. Targeted electromagnetic pulse stimulation will take place in sectors 5, 11 and 22 of this region."

As she described these details, the video showed me a three dimensional view of first the monkey's brain and then a zoom of whatever region she was talking about. When she mentioned the individual sectors, they changed color from red to blue and little numbers appeared in circles in the image to show which sector was which.

"Targeted stimulation has begun," she continued. "Observe the increase in brain activity, as well as the increase in respiration and heart rate. Sexual excitement has begun and is reaching a high level fairly rapidly."

I looked closely at the screen and could see the numbers for respiration and heart rate going up and what looked like little lightning flashes passing through the region of the brain she was showing me. In particular, the three targeted sectors looked almost like strobe lights they were flashing so fast.

"We will now cause an orgasm in the subject. Observe the effect on sector 5 and 11 as the stimulation occurs."

What I saw was a decrease in the flashes in sector 22 and then sectors 5 and 11 went almost entirely white for a good ten or fifteen seconds.

"Subject has achieved orgasm," Christina continued. "Now a second orgasm will be induced."

Again, I saw the same pattern of changes in the three sectors and the heart rate going wild for just a second or two. 

"Subject has achieved a second orgasm," Christina said. "Now a third orgasm will be induced."

Sure enough, it all happened again. This was wild. Somehow, she was making that chimpanzee cum at her will. Then her face reappeared on the screen, "Additional orgasms could be induced, but we have limited our trials to three per subject. The success rate of this procedure has been 87 percent in male subjects and 84 percent in female subjects. Among those who failed to achieve orgasm in the first trials, 90 percent of male subjects and 87 percent of female subjects did achieve orgasm in their second trials. These findings demonstrate that this procedure has a high degree of success with chimpanzees, just as it did with other simian subjects. We found no evidence of side effects in any of the subjects, leading us to conclude that this procedure is now safe to be tested in human trials."

Then the screen went blank. I looked at Christina, who turned to look back at me. Her eyes were glittering in the fluorescent light. "Well," she said. "What do you think?"

"I'm kind of amazed," I said. "If I understand what I saw, you can make a subject orgasm as quickly and as often as you like."

"Mostly correct," she replied. "We cannot induce instantaneous orgasm. There must be some sort of build up of stimulation before the procedure can work. With the monkeys we can typically cause this stimulation with our equipment, but occasionally have to provide some manual stimulation."

The image of her or one of her grad students jacking off a monkey made me smile.

"Yes," she said, clearly understanding what I was thinking. "Sometimes we have to help them out a bit to get things started. That's why I have graduate students," she chuckled.

"But you can make them cum as many times as you want?" I asked.

"We're pretty sure we can," she replied. "The most we ever induced in the chimps was three per subject, but I do know it is possible to induce more in humans."

I thought about this for a minute, and then said, "I thought you said you'd just gotten approved for human trials."

"Right you are," she said, "But look at this."

She bent down and pulled a second tape out of a lower desk drawer and popped it in. This time there was no monkey on the table. Instead, there was a very attractive and very naked young woman, who seemed to have all the same wires attached to her body—both to her head and to some similar kind of mesh thing in her crotch. The voice over on the tape was a woman, but wasn't Christina.

"Unauthorized human trial number one," the voice said. "Subject is a 27 year-old Caucasian graduate student in good health. Subject has volunteered for this trial of her own free will, haven't you subject number one?" At that the woman on the table nodded enthusiastically.

"Subject number one will now engage in manual stimulation to raise the level of sexual excitement to that required by the test. Subject number one, you may begin."

With that, the woman on the table began to masturbate for the camera, running her hands over her small and very pert breasts, up and down her belly and eventually dropping a middle finger to her pussy. She was working her fingers around the mesh thing that was laid over the area of her clit and seemed at times to be rubbing her clit through the mesh. I watched rapt as she began to moan lightly and writhe just a bit on the table. As I watched, I realized I too was experiencing sexual arousal. I looked over at Christina and, from the way she was breathing, it seemed that this little demonstration was having the same effect on her.

"Observe now the effect on subject number one's brain sectors 5, 11 and 22," the voice continued. The screen split and on the top was the woman masturbating on the table and on the bottom was a three dimensional view of her brain. Just as with the chimp's brain, the sectors in question were highlighted. 

"We will now induce an orgasm in subject number one without prior warning. Observe." 

The same thing that I'd seen before happened. Two of the brain sectors went white, while the flashing in the third decreased. On the top half of the screen, the young woman went stiff, both hands on her tits now, pinching the nipples and she cried out.

"The first orgasm is now subsiding, so we will induce a second now," the voice continued. The woman's writhing on the table intensified and her cries got louder. "And now a third orgasm," the voice said. Now she was bouncing her ass up and down, her head shaking back and forth, her hands pressing her tits together so hard it looked like it hurt. "And now another," the voice droned on. With each orgasm, the woman's writhing became more and more violent—so much so that I was afraid she was going to fall off the table. The inducements continued until she had had seven distinct orgasms and stopped only because her hands flew to her head and unplugged one of the wires. The view of her brain went dark and the screen returned to a view of only her. I could see that she was trembling violently and breathing like she'd just finished a marathon.

"Subject number one reported no ill effects either on the day of the trial or in the following seven days...except a strong desire to repeat the test," the voice said, with a little chuckle at the end.

"Wow!" I said, "That was incredible."

"Just wait," Christina said. "Watch."

The screen cleared and then the image of the naked young woman was replaced by one of a naked young man, wired up just as she had been. "Subject number two is a Caucasian male, aged 26, in good health. He has volunteered for this trial of his own free will."

As I looked at him, I could see that his cock was very hard and rather large—larger than mine, that was for sure. Like the monkey I'd seen earlier, it was encased in the same sort of mesh looking thing, but that didn't prevent me from seeing a clear outline of the shaft, head and balls.

"Subject number two will now begin self-stimulation. Observe the effect on his brain." Again the screen split and I was treated to a view of the young man playing with the head of his cock through that mesh sleeve and a view of his brain beginning to glow. "Procedural stimulation will now replace manual stimulation," the voice continued. I saw the man drop his hand back to his side, but the flashing in his brain increase.

After a minute or two, the voice said, "We will now induce an orgasm in subject number two." Sure enough, the same pattern of flashes I'd seen commenced, he cried out and sperm shot out of some hole in the tip of the mesh sleeve onto his belly and chest. I watched as he spurted four times, his body tense, and then he began to relax.

"Note that subject's orgasmic response is decreasing rapidly," the voice said. "A second orgasm will now be induced." The flashing commenced again and in less than ten seconds, the man was again spurting sperm out onto his belly and was crying out, "Oh shit, oh shit!" I could see the muscles in his stomach rippling as he came and his thigh muscles tensed like cables. 

"Note again the rapid decrease in orgasmic response," the voice continued. "A third orgasm will now be induced." And again, I watched this man I'd never met cum. This time he was howling at the moon as he came, but the amount of sperm splattering onto his abdomen was much reduced. "We will now induce a fourth orgasm before the third has fully subsided," the voice said. "Fuuuuuuuccccckkkkk!" the man screamed as he came again. "And now a fifth," the voice said, still sounding pretty clinical. "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" the man was screaming now, writhing all over the table just as the woman before him had. I saw that nothing was coming out of his cock now, but the brain sectors were still flashing like mad. "And a sixth," the voice continued. 

Now he was no longer able to articulate words. He was gibbering and drooling there on the table. "And a seventh," the voice droned on. His cock was dancing up and down on its own now, jumping like it was being electro-shocked. The guy's eyes were rolled back in his head and he was off on some other planet. I realized that as I was watching him, my own cock was close to bursting.

Then the voice said, "Because we do not wish to induce a heart attack in the subject, the trial will cease. All stimulation will end now." 

With that, the guy's body gave a convulsive jerk and it looked like he'd passed out. After a minute or so, though, he muttered, "Holy crap!" which set off giggles from more than one person in what must have been a control room.

Christina clicked off the player, leaned back and said, "Well, what do you think?"

"Unfucking believable," I said, shaking my head. "Was that real, or was it faked?"

"It was 100 percent real," she said. I noticed that her nipples were very hard and were trying to rip through the fabric of her bra and shirt. "Those were some of my doctoral students, as you might have guessed, who decided to try out the equipment on themselves a couple of weeks ago. Altogether there are five of them and all five—three women, two men—had the same success."

"And the same desire to do it again, I'll bet," I said, chuckling.

"You bet," she replied. "In fact, I have no idea how many times they've actually used the equipment. But I'm grateful to them for giving me a copy of this tape. It's something I can show my corporate sponsors in private and you can bet it's going to generate some serious grants."

"No doubt," I said. "No doubt."

Christina looked pointedly down at my crotch and said, "You look like you're ready to be a human subject."

The thought that she had shown me this for that reason had already crossed my mind, so, trying not to sound too eager, I said, "Gimme a release form and wire me up!"

She laughed that laugh of hers, reached into a file drawer next to her desk and pulled out a form. I signed it without reading it, tossed it back across the desk to her, and said, "You're sure this is safe for a man my age?"

"You don't have any history of heart trouble or high blood pressure do you?"

"Not a bit," I said.

"Then it should be safe. I'll be monitoring your vitals carefully, though, just in case."

She led me through a couple of secure doors, the last of which led to the room I'd seen on the tape. In front of me was the table and hanging from the ceiling were the various wires I'd seen. It took her a good ten minutes to get everything hooked up just right. The most fun part was when she was putting the mesh sleeve over my cock. Because the process had taken so long, I'd lost most of my erection, so she very nicely took care of that problem with her oh so talented mouth. By the time she slipped the sleeve on me, I had a raging hardon again.




Orgasmatron



"This mesh contains a variety of electrical contacts, most of which are there to monitor your physiological responses, but a few of which will give you a very mild electrical charge," she explained as she slipped it over my cock. "You won't actually feel any charge in your penis, because by the time it happens, I'll be stimulating your brain in ways that will override any other feelings you have."

"Got it," I replied.

"Now," she said. "I'm going to be through that window over there in the control room. When I tell you to, I want you to start playing with yourself. Imagine that it's me if you like or think about how many times you're going to cum...whatever works for you. I just need you to be moving in the direction of an orgasm for this to work. You don't have to be close...just moving in the right direction."

"I'm ready," I said. 

"Yes, I can see that you are," she said. "You can start playing with yourself whenever you want. If you want me to stop the test, say Chris. That is if you can still talk."

I nodded and dropped my hand to my very hard cock and began playing with it. I've always loved to masturbate in front of a lover, so this was easy for me...not to mention the fact that I was anticipating multiple orgasms! After a couple of minutes, Christina's voice came over a speaker somewhere in the room, "Oh babe, your cock is so delicious looking. I can't wait to watch you cumming. That's it babe, play with it for me. Show me how you like it to be touched. That's right."

Then, she paused and before I knew what was happening, I was cumming! It was as if my orgasm had snuck up behind me and hit me over the head with a cast iron skillet. One minute I was very turned on, the next minute sperm was blasting out of my cock like I'd brought myself off. The feeling was very intense...in fact, one of the most intense orgasms I'd ever had. Sperm was all across my chest and stomach and I was breathing hard.

Just as the waves of pleasure began to subside, another orgasm slammed through my body, this one starting at my toes, rising like lightening up my legs and shooting through the head of my cock. Wave after wave of pleasure cascaded over me...it was a feeling I'd never had before. Nothing had ever felt that good. And just as it began to subside, it started all over again. My toes curled up, my thigh muscles tensed and I came again, this time with my ass rising high off the table, sperm landing on my chin and neck as I came. Holy fuck it felt good! I'd give anything for it to continue. I realized I was moaning incoherently.

"Now we're going to try something a little different," Christina said through the speakers. "See how you like this."

As the waves of my third orgasm subsided, I began to relax, wondering what she had in store for me. I didn't have long to wait. After a minute or so, I felt the tingling precursors of another orgasm...that sense that you're nearing the edge of the cliff—balls getting tighter, toes twitching, eyes fluttering, teeth clenching just a bit. The feeling grew on me with incredible slowness though. Where before she'd snapped orgasms through my body, now she was building me up in excruciatingly slow increments, holding me at each level of increased stimulation for what seemed like ten minutes. I realized I was begging her to let me cum, moaning, all but crying.

But she wouldn't. Instead, she was inching me closer and closer in a way no lover had ever been able to do. I felt as though even a speck of dust landing on the head of my cock would have pushed me over the edge I was so close. Unable to stand it any longer, my right hand rose toward my cock. "NO!" she barked at me. "Be still or I'll shut down the test."

My hand dropped convulsively to the table. The feeling of pleasure, of imminent orgasm subsided slightly and I cried out, begging her to take it back to where it had been. In a minute or so, she did, pushing me now to what had to be the very edge of orgasm. I knew I couldn't be any closer without cumming. "Please God let me cum!" I was crying out. "Please, please, please!"

And then it hit me. Being struck by lightening or having a grand mal seizure must be something like that, only not nearly as pleasurable. I was exquisitely aware of every single nerve in my body, all of which seemed to be convulsing at once and all of them seemed connected to the head of my cock. I could feel my cock jumping over and over, slapping against my belly as it convulsed. Wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me. I stopped trying to feel them and just let them take me away. I had no sense of time, no sense of place, I was just my cock and I was just cumming and cumming and cumming. 

And then the waves began to subside. Slowly at first, and then faster, I felt the orgasm receding from my mind, from my cock. I was in agony. I didn't want it to end. I fought it for a moment, then remember who I was and where I was and knew the test was over and that Christina was letting me down slowly. My breathing was ragged and my chest was covered in the sticky, gooey evidence of my pleasure.

When the last waves of that final orgasm subsided, I passed out. It wasn't a faint, Christina later told me—she was monitoring all my vital signs very carefully—I'd simply fallen asleep. When I came to, she was washing me down with a warm cloth, smiling down at me, her pupils dilated, her nipples still very hard.

"Did you cum?" she asked, then threw back her head and laughed.

"Almost," I replied, hardly able to speak. "Almost."

"Yeah," she said. "I noticed."

When she'd detached me completely from the set up, I struggled to a sitting position, and then finally risked standing. I felt like a vampire had sucked some of my blood—lightheaded, shaky, and incredibly happy.

We sat in chairs there in the room for a minute and she asked me a series of survey questions—I don't know how many—explaining that they wanted to get immediate post-test reactions from their subjects and would then administer the survey again tomorrow "When you are back in your right mind," she chuckled.

"How many times did I cum?" I asked when all her questions were completed.

"You only came four times," she said. "But the final orgasm lasted almost five minutes. It was one continuous orgasm, rather than a series of more conventional ones. You seemed to enjoy it."

"Ha. Ha." I said. "Let's get you on the table and see how you do."

"I thought you'd never ask, lover," she said, taking my hand and leading me to the control room. Over the next fifteen minutes or so, she explained exactly how to run the system. It was remarkably simple for such a complex apparatus. 

To induce an orgasm, all one needed to do was dial up the stimulation from a scale of one to somewhere between four and six. "Different people orgasm at different levels of stimulation," she explained. "You came at level 4.4,meaning you orgasm easily. One of my grad students was all the way up at 5.7 the first time, but the second time at only 4.3. It varies. You can increase the increments either by tenths or by hundredths. For your last one, I increased it by hundredths. I wanted to see how long I could hold you at the edge. What I found was that I could have held you there much longer, but your pleading got to me and I let you cum. Then, rather than let your orgasm subside, I pushed the stimulation up, rather than dialing it down when your orgasm started."

"Got it," I said. "I think I'm ready Dr. Frankenstein."

"Good," she said. "My safe word will be Tom. If I call out your name, turn it off immediately. I've also set the tolerances on the vital signs so that if my heart rate or blood pressure goes up too high, the system will shut down automatically, so you don't need to monitor those."

Then she stripped out of her clothes. I noticed that her panties were sopping wet and that the crotch of her shorts was also very damp. From the control room, I watched Christina attach herself to apparatus. Under normal circumstances, this would have given me a hardon, but I had the feeling that I wouldn't have an erection for several days.

Finally, she lay down and called out, "I'm ready. Go ahead with the test."

On the screen in front of me I saw the image of her brain and through the window, I watched her begin to play with herself. First her hands fondled her breasts, eliciting some low moans as she twirled and pinched her nipples. Then her left hand dropped to her crotch while her right played back and forth across her tits. On the screen, her brain activity in sectors 5, 11 and 22 was increasing rapidly. I let her play with herself for a few minutes, enjoying the view and was amazed that my cock was having no reaction. It really was worn out!

After a couple more minutes, I decided it was time for my lover to cum, so I punched the number 4.8 into the system and hit the Enter key. Immediately, her brain began flashing and she began crying out. Yep, she was cumming. I let that go on for about 30 seconds, then punched in 2.2 and hit Enter. The orgasm stopped as fast as it had started. Feeling wicked, I punched in 5.0 and hit Enter right away and sure enough, she started bouncing up and down on the table. This time, though, instead of dialing her down, I punched in 5.4 and hit Enter again.

Christina screamed on the table and her hands flew to her tits, holding on as though for dear life. "More! More! More!" she was crying. Instead, I punched in 2.2 again and hit Enter. As I did, she cried out again, but this time it was "Goddamn you! I want to cum again! Higher! Higher damn it!" So, since it was her lab, I punched in 5.5 and let her have it for a good sixty seconds. Again she was screaming and writhing on the table, shouting "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

And then I punched in 2.2 again. "You motherfucker! Don't stop. Don't stop." Now she was begging. So, I punched in 2.3 and gave her just a little bit more. "Oh yes, that's better," she moaned. I gave her 2.4, watching her brain carefully. I didn't want her to cum this time. I wanted her to suffer, just like I had, right on the edge. Then I gave her 2.5. 

"I see what you're doing!" she gasped. "Watch the brain. If the flashes reach 80% of normal, don't go any further. At 81% orgasm occurs."

"Okay, babe," I murmured into the microphone. "Let's see how you like living on the edge."

Over the next ten minutes or so, I slowly and excruciatingly brought her to the very edge of orgasm. It turns out that Christina's edge was 4.1. At 4.1 the monitor read 79.8% of normal. To get from 3.8 to 4.1, I increased the stimulation by hundredths and watched her beg, moan, writhe, plead, and then I held her at 4.1 for several more minutes before I hit her with 5.7.

When I hit the Enter key at last, she surged off the table, body flopping like a fish out of water. I was seriously worried she was going to fall off. Instead, she just kept flopping up and down. Drool was coming out of both corners of her mouth, and like the guy I'd watched earlier, her eyes were rolled up in her head. A little frightened, I looked at her vital signs, but while they were elevated, they weren't anywhere near the danger zone. So, I dialed her up to 5.8. Then, after two minutes, to 5.9. Because her vitals still looked good, I gave her 5.95 and held her there for two more minutes, watching rapt as she bounced around on the table, wave after wave of pleasure rolling over her body. 

Fearful that she would have a stroke, no matter what the monitors said, I finally began to dial her down. First 5.0. Then 4.5. Then 4.2, then finally, 3.5. When I punched in that last number, she let go at last and relaxed on the table, chest heaving, fingers clenching and unclenching convulsively.

I let her lie there for a couple of more minutes, savoring the feeling, and then retuned to the room and helped her get unhooked. When she was free of all the wires, I gathered her into my arms and held her for a timeless time. 

At last, she shook herself and I released her back to the table. I pulled my own clothes on and then helped her dress herself. She was as weak as someone just coming out of a severe fever. Back in the control room, she told me how to shut everything down, and then pointed out that she'd been videotaping the whole thing. I popped the tape from the recorder and pocketed it, then helped her out of her chair and through the various doors to the hallway. 

As you might imagine, I wouldn't let her drive. Instead, I drove us back to her house and somehow, we mounted the stairs, undressed and collapsed into bed. I remember looking at the clock and noticing it was 1:30 as I closed my eyes.

When I awoke, the clock said 1:30, but it was pitch dark outside and the crickets were singing. Christina was snoring lightly next to me. We'd slept twelve hours already! I was starved, so I went down to the kitchen and began to cook myself some dinner, or was it lunch. The smell of the food must have awakened her, because I heard her padding down the stairs, still naked and looking very tousled. 

I took her in my arms again and held her for a moment, then returned to the stove. Five minutes later, over grilled cheese sandwiches and orange juice, we discussed what we'd just been through. And, we agreed that when our bodies had recovered sufficiently, we'd have to try it again someday soon.

Christina's research has yielded several very large grants—much larger than the ones she had before. The Provost is happy because he gets to scrape off 25 percent of each grant for his budget. Her department chair is happy because he gets to scrape off 10 for the departmental budget. Her colleagues are happy because they get a share of that 10 percent. Her grad students sure look happy when I see them from time to time, which I happen to know means they're continuing to test the equipment on themselves. Christina is very happy, because her research is going to make her rich and because she's going to accomplish her main professional goal of helping almost anyone achieve orgasm. And last but not least, I'm maybe the happiest of all. After years and years of the single life, I've found love at last. That, and once in a while, the love of my life and I sneak off to her lab and, well, cum until we can't cum any more.