Interview with the Professor

The next series of photos was even more jarring. Tami was strapped to a big scaffold, spread-eagled as two huge dildos on cams pistoned into her from below, invading her front and rear. A rear view showed how thick the rear dildo was, practically splitting her trim butt in two. Tubes like the one I saw in her office came down and suctioned her nipples. Next to her was what could only be called a scoreboard, recording orgasms, contractions, and time elapsed.

What made the scene even stranger were the people around her. In the first photo, after two hours and 86 orgasms, men and women were all around, formally dressed as if at a cocktail party, chatting and eating snacks. Tami's eyes were closed, her mouth open, her scalp and face and her whole hairless body shining with sweat under the harsh overhead light, her concave tummy quaking. A few people were watching her, with a couple of men behind, watching her rectum getting plowed, with as casual an attitude as if contemplating a painting in a museum. To the side was a table lined with water bottles.

In the next photo, after (according to the "scoreboard") three and a half hours and 177 orgasms, Tami was actually engaging in conversation with an older man, though her eyes seemed a little wild. A different group of people from the first photo watched her intently from every angle. From her position on the apparatus she had to look down to talk to people. Her crotch was at about everyone's eye level.

In the next photo her eyes were screaming at the camera! And maybe her mouth too, it was wide open. Her hands and wrists strained against their bonds, her thigh muscles were taut, her feet flexed, her toes spread. It was six hours in and she was apparently in the throes of her 287th orgasm! Yet around her were what looked like Chamber of Commerce types, talking to each other, only a couple looking up at her. Amusingly, a few people had their hands cupped to their ears, as if trying to hear what their friends were saying over this racket.

In the last photo she was surrounded by TL's, who were kissing her all over, a couple of them bending over to suck her toes. Some looked at the camera and had their thumbs up. Melissa was at the side pouring champagne. A cause for celebration, Tami having experienced her 400th orgasm in the space of 8 hours 17 minutes. Whether Tami was conscious of her achievement was hard to tell. Like in the first photo, her head was tilted upward, her eyes closed, her mouth open, the sweat having dried on her body, which looked a bit thinner than it did in the first photo. The water bottles to the side were almost all used up.

I had to catch my breath. Looking at these photos was exhausting. 400 orgasms! Then again, eight hours is a long time. . . I felt Melissa standing behind me, her long blond hair touching the shoulder of my jacket. When I could finally speak I said, "This is amazing."

"This is our book of wisdom," she said gently. "We're always learning new things."

"Too bad you can't put it online," I said, looking through the last chapter. "A lot of people could learn from this."

"I'll never forget my first session with Tami," she said with a reverent tone. "We were both undergrads. I did her on a table near the college library. I brought her up eighteen times. Each time I felt I was up in the clouds with her, looking down at the world. I know this sounds goofy, but it's a spiritual experience. I learned how to give. That's so important. Learning how to give."

I couldn't help but agree, the world being the way it is. I closed the book carefully.

"Come, you're not halfway through," Melissa said, taking me by the hand. I went with her down another little hallway, leaving the two girls on the couch, jabbering about boys the way only girls can.

I followed Melissa's hand around another black, invisible corner. Her hand was warm and soft, the grip firm. I wondered about the TL's. Were they all gay? Of course not, judging from the girls on the couch. How did boyfriends feel about this? It seemed like a male fantasy, what they were all doing to Tami. Yet apparently no men were allowed. Even Rod felt "uncomfortable" down here, this underworld devoted to simultaneously stimulating every bit of Tami's body, inside and out, in every conceivable fashion.

We were almost bumping into Tami's other foot when I finally saw it. There was no little lamp here. It was amazing how the layout of the walls, what must be like a maze or catacomb, blocked out sounds from the little cubbyholes devoted to other parts of her.

And it made it seem like a bigger place than it was. This bare foot had to be only five feet or so away from the other one, yet it was like journeying to the antipodes. Particularly when my eyes adjusted and I saw what was being done here, at what looked like a far outpost of the underworld. Tami's foot stuck out over a bowl of ice cubes. One of the TL's was running one cube around and between the toes. The other had a bristly spiky ball, kind of like a rubber porcupine, and was jabbing it gently over the instep. Then they switched places.

Tami's voice, participating in the meeting above, came through the nearest little speaker: "I know this must be done quickly but -- but we have to cover all bases. I see it taking two weeks if we're lucky and no - no opposition."

"This is Betty and Jalisa," Melissa said. I could barely make out their faces, especially Jalisa's which was so dark. After they nodded to me and continued their cold, spiky torture of Tami's toes and foot for a few moments, I whispered to Melissa. "This looks cruel," I said playfully. "Compared with Tami's other foot."

"Who's over there?" Betty said, kissing and sucking a toe before she rubbed an ice cube around it. She had overheard me.

"I'm not sure," Melissa said. "I don't go there much." As if it were a faraway country.

"Hermine and Gladys," I said.

"Whatever they're doing, I bet it's fattening," Jalisa said. As if talking about third cousins whom she doesn't see often. She got up off her chair and sat down in a different posture. I saw that she was tall and athletic. I thought of the other foot, coated in peanut butter. While this one was being chilled and scraped. It seemed unfair. Though I then smelled coffee and realized that the toes were being sucked by hot mouths. The toes writhed and wiggled with the stimulations, as if expressing their surprise and joy. Very expressive toes.

Melissa and I left this dark, cold outpost, then shortly came to a standing girl who was braced, one foot in front of the other, as she waved one of those long feathers I had seen next to the couch, with a slow, laborious motion. She was in a kind of jumpsuit, suited to athletic exertions. I tried to see where she was floating the feather, but it was too dark. "I'm caressing the midriff and belly button," she explained. "Want to try?"

I tried. This long thing was heavy. She showed me how to grip it with a minimum of strain. One hand holding it up eighteen inches or so from the end, as a fulcrum, the other at the end controlling the stroke, while I braced one foot well in front of the other. She looked at my hands approvingly, like a teacher watching a good student. I felt proud. And after a few strokes I could feel, subtly, the gentle vibrations and resistance through the feather. Though I couldn't see her, I could feel the delicate fronds either touching Tami or missing her. I knew that I was gently teasing the side of that tiny waist, the concave tummy, hopefully sending chills through her body. A tantalizing, teasingly gentle stimulation in contrast with all the more direct and intense things that were being done to her. Every activity here carried its own satisfactions.

Tami's voice continued through the local speaker. "Without their approval it -- w - would be impossible."

As I wafted the feather up and down I felt a chill going through my own self, as if I were on the receiving end of it. Maybe this was something of what Melissa was talking about: the excitement of exciting Tami. Reluctantly I gave the feather back to the girl. Melissa led me outward and up a couple of steps.

Tami's hand stuck out from the darkness. Two women were touching it lightly with their hands and tongues, down the wrist and forearm. I remembered the chapter in the loose leaf on "Feet and Hands" where there was a drawing on "nerve patterns". Apparently there was a pattern to their caressing that stimlulated something up and down the arm.

Suddenly something struck me. "How is Tami -- supported? It looks like she's in mid air."

"There are loops of soft plastic going around her thighs and her upper arms," Melissa said quietly. "You can't see them from here."

I shook my head. "Amazing. This -- underworld. How did it develop?"

"Bit by bit. We're proud of it. It's been a progressive, collective project. Everything has been trial and error. Tami's very sensual, and amazingly responsive. You can bring her to orgasm a hundred different ways. But some things work better than others. Extending and intensifying her response, that's what it's been all about."

"But she's not reaching orgasm. She's up there -- I mean her head's up there -- taking part in an important meeting."

"She's holding back. That's for the convenience of the faculty, and President Ellender. It's the only way she can be at these meetings at close to room temperature. She hates participating from inside that freezer booth. Also for some of those folks, they can't concentrate when they see her shivering."

I supposed the students in Tami's classes were used to that, but not everyone. I was still with these thoughts when Melissa led me toward Tami's front, where her breasts were being attended to by my old friend Tonya, and another girl whose face I could not see because she was busy sucking vigorously on the other nipple.

"Hi," Tonya said, catching her breath as she disengaged her teeth from having pulled on the nipple she was stationed at. With both hands she was grabbing the big breast like a grapefruit, making it stick out even more than when at rest, and making the waist, below in the shadows, look even more tiny by contrast. "This is Mei Lin."

The other girl, still with her face occupied, gave me a little backward wave. Then she went back to grabbing "her" breast, which looked all the bigger because her hands were so small.

Tonya and Mei Lin were standing in tall, dark wood boxes that were barely big enough for them to fit in and which came up to their waists. It was explained that this way they would not interfere with those stationed below.

These two girls were ravenous, rough, rasping. They were biting and sucking, pulling poor Tami's nipples until they stretched grotesquely out from her breasts, then letting go, causing the breasts to bounce, then attacking again.

"You guys are rough!" I whispered. "Poor Tami must be going crazy!"

Tami's voice: "I can do the press release. Kathy can -- speak to Gayle at the -- development office... No, I don't -- think that would be necessary."

"I wouldn't say she's used to it," Melissa said, "but she can store up the sensations for when she breaks loose."

That must be some orgasm she's heading up to, I thought.

"Now," Melissa said portentously, taking my hand again, "let's go to Mission Control."

A little flight of steps -- maybe four steps, but these were tiny steps -- away and down, then down and in, and for once I was in a well-lit place, crowded with two women as well as Melissa and me. It was Tami's crotch, the famous cleanly shaved lower lips, the world's most exposed clit poking out above. The three women were seated in front of a long, narrow table crowded with recognizable sex toys -- dildos, vibrators -- and some I didn't recognize. The women were separated by the thin square columns that held the legs of Tonya and Mei Lin, but leaned forward and worked on Tami as a skilled team.

Tami's crotch was brightly lit with two spotlights mounted on snake supports, as if on stage. Well, it was always on display for the whole world to see, but now intensely so. At the moment one woman, a slightly overweight girl about Tami's age, was gently rubbing the lower part of Tami's inner lips, while the other, a tall, athletic looking Latina, was applying a long, stick-like vibrator to various points around the clit. The clit stood straight out, like a tiny penis, casting a little shadow in the harsh light. As the Latina girl gently jabbed, the clit danced in little jerks, and Tami's vagina, stimlulated by the rubbing of the first girl, quaked and palpitated, closing slightly and then opening again, like a goldfish's mouth.

To the sides, I saw Tami's thin but muscular thighs, and two of the supports Melissa spoke about. They were wide straps, black so as to be almost invisible, hung by equally black ropes that extended up to some unseen anchor point.

"This is Rosaria," Melissa said, referring to the Latina girl, "and this is Georgene."

"Welcome," Georgene said. Then she looked up at a digital clock on what was a freestanding little wall. I looked around and saw coffee cups, tea bags, cookies, and some textbooks. Behind us there were some folding chairs, and I saw two older women seated there, watching attentively, dressed up like they were attending church. They nodded to me politely. I looked up at the unseen ceiling, and guessed they were probably directly under the flat part of the table above, where lay sodas and papers and President Ellender's chocolate cake.

I had so many questions in my head but didn't know where to start. So I just watched. After rubbing Tami's lower lips with her fingers, Georgene produced a gigantic dildo. It was far too long to fit into any woman's pussy but Georgene didn't try. She skillfully rubbed the lips until the pussy was wide open, then she gently introduced the end of the dildo, rubbing against the pussy lips and slickly squeezing them open, then twisting gently until about four inches were in. Then she turned a switch and I heard humming.

Tami: "Th - this is a good idea. We should form a subcommittee to deal -- with that."

As Georgene pushed the dildo in a little deeper, then deeper yet, Rosaria pressed her long stick directly into Tami's clit, as if to crush it into her body. Tami's whole torso jerked, very slightly. Then Georgene reamed the pussy around and around with the dildo. Then she withdrew it. Rosaria withdrew the stick from the hard red clit. Then in concert they grabbed little feathers and gently tickled Tami's genitals. The clit bobbed, the gaping pussy palpitated. I thought I saw Tami's whole crotch area quiver. I've had that feeling, about to orgasm, my whole pelvis congested and heavy and seeking release. With Tami it was extreme. She had been brought right up to the point of orgasm and then left there, only to be taken up to the brink yet again. For how many times so far?

We watched Tami's open pussy quiver for a moment. "Let's give this careful thought," her voice said from above. Muffled laughter. Must have been a joke. Then Georgene stuck her entire hand into the pussy, crunching the fingers together so that it slid in through the wet lips. To my amazement her hand went all the way in to the wrist.

Georgene said, "Ha! Belinda's using the knuckle technique again." As we watched, Georgene worked her hand, deep within Tami. All we could see was the working of the muscles in her arm as she and Belinda, on the other side of Tami and the other side of their world, communicated in their strange language, using Tami's inner membrane and Tami's body as their medium. Both getting a charge out of it, as if achieving some new kind of international understanding.

I remembered reading how delicate the membrane was between rectum and vagina. "Isn't that dangerous?" I asked Melissa.

"No," she whispered back. "Like a lot of Tami, it's gotten toughened with the world using it, while being no less sensitive. Maybe even more so. Like the soles of her feet."

Georgene, her head tilted just so, eyes looking up absently, giggled, as if Belinda had cracked a joke across Tami's innermost membrane. Like silent lovers tapping out messages in code.

At length Georgene withdrew her hand. Then a strange sight: she and her companion started licking Tami's juices off her fingers. She looked up at me as if to say, "Want some?" I declined.

I almost fell back on Melissa and exhaled, as if overwhelmed. "C'mon," she said, "let's go."

Another little curved set of steps. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hermine and Gladys at their little lighted stand, continuing their peanut butter and jelly feast on Tami's toes.

"One more thing," Melissa said. We were at the foot of that initial little narrow flight of steps. She reached up and drew back a little curtain.

"Holy . . ." I'm sure my mouth was open and Melissa was amused at my reaction. It was a vantage point, behind Tami's neck, from where one could look down and see Tami's whole body from the rear, bathed in ghostly dim light. The glorious, lightly muscled, perfectly proportioned nakedness, stretched out in an "X", stimulated at every possible place (hands, feet, legs, thighs, nipples, torso, pussy, clit, rectum, anus) and in every possible way (tongues, teeth, lips, dildos, vibrators, peanut butter, jelly, ice cubes, rasps, pins) -- all at the same time --the little lights from the various stations here and there, like little cities along the moonlit hills and plains of the country of Tami -- while up above, Tami's brain and face and mouth were somehow thinking and talking and fully engaged in the boring steering committee meeting!

Melissa drew back the curtain. Now we ascended the glowing narrow steps, and went up through the door and into the bright hallway, where Rod stood as before, his one arm holding up his cup as he sipped.

Actually the hallway was probably not that bright, but it took a while for me to get used to the light. I had just one word as I blinked at him and Melissa.

"Wow."

Then, I giggled, knowing they would laugh too. "After all that, I'm hungry."

Rod cheerfully took me back to the living room, with the black round table, and the wonderful chocolate cake made by President Ellender. The college president smiled at me as I tried not to make too much a show of wolfing it down, and washing it down with iced tea. I pictured spreading the rich frosting on Tami's nipple and licking it off, biting and sucking in the process.

The disembodied bald head of Tami Smithers continued to preside over the meeting. "That's -- the plan then?" I again noticed the red blotchiness of her face and scalp. Perhaps a reaction to normal room temperature, being used to subfreezing blasts in her movable ice box. Or maybe a reaction to the intense stimulation below and the strain of repressing the slightest grunt.

"Yes," President Ellender said. Another woman was typing the minutes on her little laptop. I took another bite of cake.

Tami's head looked around the table. "M - meeting finished then?" I couldn't help thinking of what she was experiencing below, on every part of her body. . .

"Thanks, Tami," the man in the suit said. After some glances everyone got up.

Tami's eyes closed as if praying. She took a couple of deep, ragged breaths. Then she opened them. "Y - you're welcome to stay." She looked as two new people entered the room, the young girls who had been chatting on the couch down in the "underworld". She smiled at them. Then another woman came in, with a big plate of chips and salsa, and another with wine and cheese.

"No, thank you, see you tomorrow," the President of the Institute said. The others followed her.

The lady with the chips said, "Let's put on some tunes. Time to party!"

[end of report]