Dr. Chloe Burrell, Sex Researcher

(Yes, it had to be a virgin if at all possible. The thought of being the first one to do a guy like this, to take him to a place he had never been before, was powerful. Maybe it was her introduction to strapon man-fucking via a video that depicted a confident, experienced woman tutoring a college stud through his deflowering that had done it, but making her first strapon experience one in which she guided her fake cock into the asshole of a guy experiencing the sensation for the first time was almost non-negotiable—"almost" because doing ANY guy in the ass with a strapon would be fantastic.)

Her gloom darkened during lunch. She would be around the subject of strapon man-fucking for at least as long as it took to conduct this experiment with Georgia. Then there would be analyzing data, all the while knowing what caused the brain state she was investigating. Then would come the months involved in writing the article, including whatever comments she could devise in stilted academic narrative to describe her research, before submitting it for review. It would be so frustrating!

"Whoa! Who peed on your dishes?"

It was Faye Davenport, a modern languages professor that Chloe knew from the institutional effectiveness committee she had worked on last year. Faye had become a friend, a female connection outside of the department in which Chloe worked. Faye was a junior faculty member, only two years into her appointment and still four years away from going up for tenure. Her irreverent approach to the staid world of academe was a big reason Chloe liked her. Faye was also single, never having married but definitely desirous of a long-term relationship. She had shared that hope with Chloe.

"Mind if I join you? But if you're really intent on staring a hole through the table in whatever funk that's eating you, I can move to--"

"No, no, Faye, please." Chloe scooted her tray a bit closer to her, giving Faye a larger space to put down her own tray. "I admit I must be broadcasting plenty of 'Life Sucks' signals."

Faye sighed as she set down her tray and pulled off the paper ribbon that wrapped the napkin and plastic utensils. "No apologies necessary, Chloe. I've been in exactly the same place lots of times here, and I haven't been here nearly as long as you." Dipping her spoon into a styrofoam cup of steaming chili, Faye brushed away a strand of red hair as she blew gently on the concoction to cool it down. "Research going south?"

Pushing the noodles of her chicken alfredo around on the plate in front of her, Chloe sighed and put down her fork. "No, and that's the hell of it, Faye." She looked at her friend, the noodles in their gooey white sauce cooling on her plate. "I'm probably going to get great data today that I'm sure will lead to an article that should generate a buzz. It'll probably get me invitations to speak and write about the findings. This is all going to be super."

Faye spooned chili into her mouth, savored the spicy stew for a moment, then swallowed as she considered her friend's statement. "And this is a bad thing?"

"Of course not. This is going to be great for me. It's probably going to be the breakthrough research that will ensure tenure." Chloe slumped back in her chair.

"You know, this is definitely weird," said Faye, stirring the chili to help it cool down faster. "Everything you just said should be creating a way different reaction from what I'm seeing. What am I missing?"

Chloe had never gone much into the subject of her research with Faye. Sure, her friend knew Chloe was on the neuroscience faculty, but Chloe seriously doubted that Faye had ever read one of Chloe's articles. The university didn't do a lot of publicity about its neuroscientific "sex research" for obvious reasons—it didn't want to attract negative attention to what might be an easy target for people wanting to criticize research spending. Therefore, Faye and the rest of the university's faculty, unless they were in her department, were probably not aware of exactly what it was that went on behind the doors of Chloe's lab.

"Let's just say that, in spite of the professional rewards coming my way, the personal rewards have been shit."

Faye looked at Chloe with instant sympathy. "Men, right?"

"No," said Chloe, crossing her arms as she leaned against the back of her chair, "a decided LACK of men."

"How long?"

"Six weeks and counting since a date."

Faye put her spoon down. "You're right. That IS a decided lack."

Chloe looked at her friend. "What do you do? You know how it is at this university."

Faye pursed her lips into a sly smile. "Well, during a true dry spell, the batteries and power tools are always handy."

That broke through Chloe's cloudy demeanor, and she laughed.

"Guess we all have them, huh?"

"Sometimes, Chloe, they are ALL we have."

The ice broken, Chloe confessed, "Yeah, I take that option, but I'm really bummed about the lack of prospects, the weeks and months ahead without a guy to kick back with and try to forget this insane academic rat race. Don't even tell me it might be years. That would make me slit my wrists."

"Chloe, Chloe, don't be so negative," Faye said, her voice laced with concern. "You'll find some guy, I know it. You're attractive, smart, funny. You're not dating only because you haven't taken time to date. I know lots of guys that would like to go out with you."

"That's just it, Faye," Chloe replied as her friend spooned up another mouthful of chili. "Time is what I don't have. I'm close enough to my tenure review that I have to put on the big push, you know? As the only woman in my department, I have to work extra. I can't make one slip. I have to constantly go beyond what any man would have to do to get the same respect. It's stupid in this day and age, but I'm stuck with it. It's enough to make me consider changing careers."

Again, Faye put her spoon down in concern. "Don't talk crazy, Chloe. You know you're just saying that." She reached her hand across the table to grab Chloe's wrist. "Besides, the rewards are going to be so satisfying. Not only will you get tenure, you'll get the satisfaction of telling all the old farts, 'I told you so!'"

"Yeah, I know you're right. It's just that some days the fact that there is absolutely no balance, and no man, in my life really gets to me."

Chloe did not mention that the intensity of her dissatisfaction at this particular moment had been initiated not just due to the lack of a man; it was that the man she was lacking was, as well, not whispering into her ear how sexy she looked wearing her strapon and how eager he was to open up for her.

"Look," Faye said, "we're both trying to figure out where the available men are at this university." She picked up her bread and smoothed a pat of butter across it. "When you eliminate the student body, both the grads and the undergrads, that leaves . . . wait . . . let me figure," she said, making a funny face as she looked up in mock concentration, "oh, about NONE!"

Faye was the perfect antidote for Chloe's mood. She laughed at her friend's estimation of the university dating pool.

"Makes me sometimes wonder if I'll be able to continue keeping my hands off all my students," Faye winked. "Robert in my French lit class is hot."

"But you won't," Chloe said, with a warning look. "No, but thinking about Robert while I have the vibrator out is not something my review committee will ever find out," replied Faye, popping the bread into her mouth and then smiling smugly, exaggerating the effect just to coax a giggle from Chloe.

The two friends settled into a conversation that lightened Chloe's mood, and she walked back to her lab after lunch feeling much better.

Maybe she'd find a guy soon—somehow—and maybe he'd be an adventurous lover.

In the meantime, her enthusiasm about the afternoon's experiment was ramping up.

Georgia arrived on time, and Chloe had prepared everything in advance. When the girl stepped from behind the screened-off changing area wearing the same attire she had donned for her first experience under the scanner, Chloe explained the added part of the day's experiment.

"It's important that you replicate the conditions that create your best orgasms, Georgia, so I took the liberty of ordering a couple of videos for you if you think watching a video while you masturbate this time will help you relax and focus on your favorite fantasy." Chloe watched closely for Georgia's reaction. She was ultra-sensitive to how she interacted with research subjects. Years of experiments had schooled her well in the delicate nature of the human psyche, especially when the research concerned sex.

Georgia was a trooper, though. "Great!" she said, genuine delight in her voice.

"I have two DVDs, but they're both focused on the kind of sexual activity you described as always creating your most intense orgasms. I hope--"

"What are the titles?" Georgia asked, interrupting in excitement. "Like I told you last week, Dr. Burrell, it hasn't been that long ago since I found this particular turn-on, but I have to say that it's been hard to find this kind of video that's any good." She hopped up on the scanner bed, toys in hand. "And I have definitely looked."

"Well," Chloe said as she helped the girl into position underneath the scanner, "one is called, 'Losing the Bet, Winning the Game,' and the other is, 'Tutoring Samuel.'" Chloe pulled the blanket up over Georgia, already knowing the girl's masturbatory technique would not cause excess motion that might compromise the readings.

"You must have found the same internet site as I have!" Georgia exclaimed happily. "I haven't yet ordered, 'Tutoring Samuel,' but the other one is just absolutely, incredibly hot. That scene where Lela has Miguel bent over the sofa, doing him with her strapon, and then in the middle of it he gets so excited that he reaches underneath himself to jack off because he's so hot and bothered—god, that just drives me right over the edge every time I see it."

Chloe hadn't allowed herself a second viewing of "Losing the Bet, Winning the Game" because she knew she wouldn't be able to handle the intensity of the kind of orgasm it gave her the first time so soon after that initial viewing. However, what Georgia had just described—Miguel fisting his cock as Lela fucked him over the arm of the sofa—was something that must have been shown during the immediate aftermath of Chloe's explosive orgasm. She didn't remember that part of the scene.

Tonight. Yes, tonight, Chloe would watch Miguel jack off as Lela screwed him with her strapon.

"So, Georgia, would you like--"

"The one I haven't seen yet, Dr. Burrell," Georgia said eagerly. The motions underneath the blanket covering the girl as she lay on the platform let Chloe know that Georgia was inserting her vibrator inside her pussy and positioning it to her liking. "I mean, it's a good one, right? I know it's from the same company that sells the one with Lela and Miguel, so it's going to be good, too, right? Have you seen it?"

What was the proper research-scientist response to that question? Chloe wondered, worried that the wrong answer might make Georgia wonder whether Dr. Burrell's research was for ulterior motives. She decided to fib, at least a little bit.

"Yes, I have watched it, Georgia. I had to in order to time code the video to the scanner read-outs." That was a very safe answer that would instantly eliminate any trace of concern any subject might have had about this experiment. It was partly true, too (though a software program did the coding automatically, Chloe did have to spot check the results). Her answer to Georgia's question, though, lacked the full disclosure of, "I watched it while stroking my clit, tugging on my hard nipples, and coming when I buried two fingers up my pussy to push against my G-spot as I watched that sexy man's asscheeks being spread apart and his tutor's strapon sliding hard and deep into his opened asshole."

"So, is 'Tutoring Samuel' just as good as the one with Lela and Miguel? Does it have the same kind of action?"

"I know you'll like it, Georgia," Chloe answered with a smile. "Samuel is hot, and the woman who tutors him REALLY does a good job of it."

"And to think I'm getting paid for this," Georgia mused in wonderment as Chloe fixed the goggles and headphones into place on her subject's head.

"Remember to try to minimize all motion," Chloe reminded the co-ed as she stepped to the control panel to start the computer.

The results were everything Chloe had hoped for. Georgia rocketed through all stages of arousal in record time in response to the care Chloe had taken to start the video at the part where Kartrina was convincing Samuel to disrobe for her as she stepped into her strapon harness while telling him how good she was going to make him feel. Chloe wanted to see how fast Georgia could reach the intense orgasm she claimed she always had when thinking about or seeing a woman using a strapon on a guy, so anything shown before the inevitable lead-up to the act followed immediately by the act itself would have compromised that aspect of the experiment.

Georgia was truly the perfect research subject. Whereas Chloe's intense orgasm brought on by seeing Lela take Miguel in "Losing the Bet, Winning the Game" carried with it lots of physical jerks and involuntary motions, Georgia reached a true black-out of bliss that lasted for several seconds of almost no motion. That was great for minimizing the artifacts of involuntary motion that would otherwise have sullied the readings. Darkened areas on the scans indicated shut-down of neural activity in multiple areas for the duration of the girl's deeply intense orgasm.

God, she was right! thought Chloe, her hands shaking with excitement as she ran them through her hair while watching the computer monitors. Georgia had just experienced an orgasm that was even more intense than the one she gave herself the week before in the lab. Fascinated, Chloe's gaze locked on the time read-out at the bottom of the monitor which was displayed right next to the counter showing the size of the file being generated by the readings. As the darkened regions of activity on Georgia's scan lingered on the monitors, the clock's digits climbed steadily upward as the file size grew to at least triple that generated by any other female experiencing orgasm during any experiment Chloe had ever conducted.

As gigabytes advanced toward terabyte, Chloe started to become concerned. Had Georgia had a seizure? Shit! A stroke?

The girl stirred. Chloe breathed a huge sigh of relief and saw the darkened areas in the scan flicker back to life. She rushed to the scanner platform, punching the button to slide it out from underneath the maw of the imposing scanner head even before coming to a full stop at the scanner's control panel. Being as gentle, but as quick, as possible in removing the goggles and earphones, Chloe placed the fingertips of one hand on the girl's forehead in order to raise one eyelid with her thumb and check for a reaction to the light in the lab.

Georgia's eyes rolled forward, and she focused on Chloe's face peering over her. "I'm okay, Dr. Burrell. Can I please just lie here for a minute?" she mumbled.

"Of course," Chloe whispered, stepping back from the platform and taking a seat on the straight-backed chair to wait for Georgia's eventual refocus to full consciousness.

Her concern and rush to the scanner had meant Chloe's recordings would not include all the data that would have come with Georgia's return from her intense orgasm to full, wakeful brain function, but Chloe was okay with that—the brain readings would have startled any researcher and prompted similar action.

The French characterization for an orgasm, la petite mort—the little death—had been spectacularly justified in this experiment.

Chloe's interruption in the readings, though, did not take place until Georgia had started to return from her fantastic bliss-out. The data would be uncorrupted before that point, and the powerful description of what had taken place that caused Chloe to rush to the girl's side (yes, even though it would have be written in that stilted, third-person academic jargon) would add immeasurably to the appeal of the article. This would definitely qualify for a top-tier journal, and Chloe would be the researcher who, in the months it would take the article to go through the peer review process (generating buzz as it did so), would be continuing work in this area. During that time she would build a reputation as the pre-eminent authority on la petite mort brought on by female fantasy coupled with self-stimulation.

Take that, you bunch of big-headed, little-dicked, couldn't-get-it-up-with-a-crane horde of male intelligentsia in academe purporting to know all about the female orgasm!

(Okay, she was guessing about penis size and function, but it was just too satisfying not to put her mental exclamation of glee into those terms after all the years of being a second-class citizen in the world of the neuroscience of sexuality.)

Wait! "La petit mort" was surely a term coined by a man.

"Burrellian Threshold" had a much better, far more satisfying ring to it, thought Dr. Chloe Burrell.

***

"Amante! You are driving me crazy," panted Miguel as Lela plowed into his ass with her strapon. The woman was truly practiced in the art of man-fucking, Chloe noticed on her second viewing of this very sexy video, a viewing prompted by Georgia's comment about the part of the scene that Chloe had obviously missed after she crossed the "Burrellian Threshold" on her initial viewing of the film. It was hypnotic watching the serpentine motion of Lela's hips and back as she fucked him, her breasts swaying seductively with their hard nipples distended in arousal.

"Oh, I love hearing you say that, Miguel," cooed Lela, increasing her tempo just a bit. "I love seeing my strapon cock sliding in and out of your asshole, baby. Tell me how much you like it."

Lela was like a belly dancer behind him, undulating in waves that moved the strapon rhythmically in and out of Miguel's sexy opening.

"I can not talk now, naughty one," Miguel croaked, reaching underneath himself to fist his stiff cock and begin stroking with a tempo that matched Lela's erotic movements. Somehow the camera caught everything—Lela's strapon sliding in and out of Miguel's asshole, her hips moving hypnotically as she fucked him, and his hand wrapped around his shiny, slippery cock, sliding up and down the shaft and head in the same tempo his opened hole was receiving the phallus strapped to her crotch.

The entrancing bolero built to its climax.

This was the part, Chloe thought as she increased her ministrations on her exposed, throbbing clit, that Georgia had reported never failed to—

It did the same for Chloe, and she crossed the Burrellian Threshold, once again missing Miguel's ejaculation and Lela's orgasm.

***

It had been two months since the breakthrough with Georgia's strapon-fantasy-induced orgasm in Chloe's lab. In that time, she had replicated the experiment with Georgia, and then with two other women, providing her the groundwork to defend assertions in her article, which had been received favorably—and to her surprise, in a matter of only a week—by the first journal to which she had submitted it. "An important piece of research," the editor had said in the letter, indicating that he would ask his editorial review board members to prioritize the reading of her article so that The Journal of Human Sexuality could publish the article quickly if the peer reviews that came in were as he suspected they would be.

It was a coup.

By this time, Chloe had both refined and expanded her research. The expansion was, well, as self-serving as it was scientifically defensible.