Dr. Chloe Burrell, Sex Researcher

Dr. Chloe Burrell, discoverer of the eponymous "Burrellian Threshold," had been curious to find out if there was something unique in the images or sounds or sensations of "female-to-male penetration during coitus" that applied only to women. This, of course, meant she would need to do some research with men viewing the same subject matter.

Oh, sweet Jesus! Chloe thought the first time the idea came into her head. What if this turned on guys to the same degree? It would be SUCH a shame to have to spend hours and hours gathering data from research subjects, listening to the men describe why—exactly—the act aroused them.

Worried that she would not be able to conduct such research without completely losing all professional decorum, Chloe delayed doing such experiments. My god! What if some great looking man looked at her and told her that the idea of taking it in his asshole from a woman wearing a strapon drove him absolutely crazy with lust?

What would she do if THAT happened in her lab?

In the name of science, she would find out. Chloe fought down her worries and ran the ad soliciting research subjects.

So far, she was at a very preliminary stage in this aspect of her research. But she was batting a thousand: Both men who had viewed "Tutoring Samuell" registered intense arousal responses on her brain scans. One of them denied he was aroused, even feigned disdain at the subject matter.

Chloe knew he was lying.

The other, more honest, said it surprised him to notice his reaction. He said that he would have reported no interest in the act if someone asked him about it. This guy, of course, had never seen it happen, had never been exposed to the concept. But at least he admitted to getting aroused at seeing it happen.

Too bad both those research subjects were undergrad students and therefore off limits in terms of a potential sexual dalliance for about a thousand reasons. Chloe would surely have been able to convince the kid who admitted his fascination and arousal that he needed his own 'tutor,' right?

Even though there was no chance the two experiments thus far conducted with male subjects would lead to her own experience with a strapon and a naked man's eager asshole, the results lifted her spirits enormously. Maybe taking it in the ass from a sexy woman had an appeal for a lot of guys.

Whether they knew it or not.

If so, finding a lover who would be into it might not be the difficult and protracted process Chloe had feared. Her work would make the subject so easy to bring up. She could show him 'the lab's' DVD in explaining the focus of her research. If his cock got hard as they watched it, well . . ..

The other intriguing aspect her research had turned up was the variation in the sequence of brain area bliss-out among her female subjects. For some of the women, it seemed that the executive function brain areas with neural routing to the auditory control centers blissed out first, yet for others, it was areas with connections routing into visual control centers. The discovery would further strengthen her notoriety as a researcher studying the Burrellian Threshold, and it would provide a rich vein of ongoing investigation.

While her professional life had moved into high gear, bringing with it the satisfactions of an invitation to speak at the next Congress of Human Sexuality and an invitation to author a chapter in an upcoming compendium devoted to the female orgasm, Chloe's personal life remained devoid of an intimate relationship with a man. The only difference was that now she found herself more frequently fending off overtures—usually at the increasing number of conferences her department was offering to send her to—from men that she clearly had no interest in being with. Thankfully, the men in her department at the university were all married (and god bless the wives that somehow put up with them!), so at least she didn't have to deal with advances from the senior neuroscience faculty.

That was an especially good thing. A rebuffed male ego was capable of destroying a woman's academic career. Chloe had seen this happen.

But not having to worry about the consequences of telling a senior colleague she did not want to go out with him was no salve for the emptiness of her townhome when she went home each evening. It did nothing to replace a pair of strong, masculine arms enfolding her and drawing her close so the man could nuzzle her hair and tell her how much she meant to him. And it certainly did nothing to better the odds that she would someday slide a strapon dildo deep into some guy's asshole and fuck him to the point of a quaking, soul-splitting orgasm.

Chloe remained desperate to experience that, but the urge was also building for the man she would someday take in that fashion to realize that she was his perfect mate, the woman he needed and wanted at his side.

In the meantime, Chloe added to her DVD collection, all purchased from the same online vendor. Her single foray into another purveyor's library resulted in a turn-off due to the demeaning way the women were using the men, the names they called them as they made them suck their strapons before fucking them. It wasn't her cup of tea, not by a long shot, so she stuck with videos and stories of women who, though sometimes having to convince reluctant partners of the pleasure to be had at the ends of their dildos, screwed men who enjoyed being taken and who were also men comfortable in their maleness and in being protectors and lovers who could make a woman see stars during passionate love-making.

And she ordered a harness and dildo. Just in case.

Advancing to the next stage of her research required somehow trying to separate audio-triggered orgasms from video-triggered orgasms among her subjects, and that meant Chloe had to find audio stories that could be listened to while underneath the scanner. Georgia had remained a loyal subject, providing lots of data generated by the intensity of her orgasms. This meant Chloe was obliged to find audio stories of strapon man-fucking, and that turned out exceedingly difficult to do.

While thinking about a solution one day in the lab, Chloe considered writing a story and recording it herself. She knew exactly the kind of scenarios that would push Georgia's buttons, so writing the story would not be difficult. (And putting her own turn-ons down on paper would be enjoyable, Chloe thought, given that Georgia's enthusiasm for fantasizing to thoughts, sights, and the sounds of women bringing themselves off by fucking men with their strapons was just as intense as her own.) However, previous research by others had shown that there was a lessened impact on orgasmic intensity if a sexual fantasy was read to a woman by a woman (unless the listener was same-sex oriented). This meant that Chloe's story would have to be read by a man. Further, it would have to be read in a studio-quality setting so that poor audio would not distract the subjects as they listened (such distractions caused artifacts in the readings).

What all this meant is that Chloe was going to have to find some guy to come to the Psychology Building on campus in order to sit before a mic in the little audio studio in the basement and record a story about a woman fucking a man in the ass with a strapon dildo.

Good grief! Her line of work created all manner of embarrassing situations . . .

But then Chloe stopped that line of thought.

Perhaps "opportunity" was a better description of this situation!

Then a second thought: How could she approach a man with this request?

"Excuse me, but would you consider coming with me to the audio studio in the basement of the Psych Building and recording a pornographic story about a man being taken anally by a woman wearing a strapon dildo?"

How well would that work out?

Then she remembered the guy in the evening class to which she had spoken last year at that for-profit college with the Psy.D. degree program. The Psy.D. was a practitioner's degree, a doctorate designed for "psychologist counselors" as she had heard one of the senior faculty in her department describe it in none too positive terms. She had been impressed, though, with the college's curriculum, and it had actually been a positive thing for her to speak to the class—she had explained to her dean that she had accepted the invitation in order to be a good colleague to an institution that would benefit from some observations by a university professor on a topic the students were struggling with at the time.

It was an enjoyable experience, and she was struck by the thoughtful questions from a man in the class who approached her after her talk and the class' dismissal. Knowing that the college's market included a fair degree of career changers, she was not surprised to see this guy—probably mid- to late-thirties—sitting in the chair-desks among the mostly female group of students who looked to be anywhere between mid-twenties and mid-fifties.

What was his name? He had mentioned it when he introduced himself, saying he was enrolled because he had always been fascinated by the human mind, and he finally decided that his career as an actuary was never going to provide the fulfillment that he was seeking. He was keeping his day job and going to school at night, hoping to open a practice someday as a psychologist. Chloe's talk about the brain's limbic system as the seat of emotion had intensely interested him.

"Rick." That was it. He had introduced himself as Rick.

Was he wearing a wedding ring? Chloe couldn't remember. She did remember his smile and his pretty brown eyes.

Then it occurred to her why she had thought of him. His accent. It was--

Oh, my! Chloe thought. Rick's voice was similar to Miguel's—similar to that sexy, Latin baritone that was such a turn-on in counterpoint to Lela's throaty entreaties in "Losing the Bet, Winning the Game."

Had her subconscious just served up a memory based on her strong desire to take a man like Lela took Miguel? Even though Rick was not Miguel, was her inner self concocting a role-play substitution based on Chloe's fascination with strapon man-fucking?

Dammit! WAS Rick wearing a wedding ring? She had liked him. He was handsome, she recalled. His earnestness in learning more on the subject she had talked about impressed her, as did his easy acceptance of her as an authority on the topic, something he mentioned when he said he appreciated that someone with such a rich research background as hers would come speak to the class. And she liked hearing him talk—that masculine voice with its sexy accent had actually caused her to ask him a question or two, just to prolong their conversation.

He would be perfect to record what Chloe needed for her research!

No, he was NOT wearing a ring—she remembered now. She had purposefully taken note of that fact when he turned the pages of the textbook to a diagram in order to ask her a question. Then she remembered looking up into his smile. He must be—what?—about six feet tall? He was dressed casually, she recalled, but it was easy to tell he was in pretty good shape.

What happened? Why had she not somehow sent a message, somehow opened the door to a follow-up conversation? She remembered leaving the college thinking about him as she drove home.

Shaking her head in disbelief at the missed opportunity and wondering what stupid, inconsequential concern must have prevented her from trying to connect with him (no time? can't be distracted? wait for the guy to make the next move? Shit!), she searched through her email archives for a message with the name of the college in it. The teacher of the class had contacted her to invite her to speak, and the teacher would know Rick, know if he were still at the college.

It took only a minute to find it. Dr. Talia Shropshire's office phone number was listed as part of her email sig file.

Though the odds were slim that the woman would be in her office at the moment, Chloe punched in the number anyway.

"Hello? This is Dr. Shropshire."

It was a good omen.

"Dr. Shropshire, this is Dr. Chloe Burrell. You invited me to speak to your class about a year ago on the limbic system."

"Good to hear from you, Dr. Burrell! Thank you again for coming to our campus. Your presentation was quite helpful for the students."

"It was my pleasure," Chloe said, warming to the conversation. The entire experience had, indeed, been quite pleasant, and it was nice to reconnect with it in this manner.

"What can I do for you?"

"Well, Dr. Shropshire, we have some research going on here at the university—mine, actually—and for various reasons related to my research protocols, I need to have an audio recording made by a male with a slight accent."

It was a lie—the accent would not matter. It would, though, explain why Chloe was asking specifically about Rick. Too, given her position on the neuroscience faculty, which Dr. Shropshire obviously knew, the request for an accented audio recording could plausibly be connected to any number of research studies seeking to map brain function.

"And I remembered from my visit to your class a gentleman named Rick. He spoke with me after class about a couple of things related to my talk. He had an accent as I recall, and I thought that since he's enrolled in your college he might be receptive to this assignment. You can understand that we try not to have our own university students generate material that is used in our research. It simplifies the IRB process in a number of ways."

All of this was true, and Chloe was relieved to explain her reasons to someone who understood such things.

"Makes complete sense, Dr. Burrell, and I'm sure Ricardo would be interested. He's close to graduating, but he is taking his capstone course this semester. It's our college's policy not to give out information on our students, but I will ask him to contact you if he is interested. I know I have your card somewhere around here, but can you give me your phone number and email address so I can write them down? The capstone class meets this evening, and I can give your contact info to Mr. Torres then."

Another good omen.

Chloe began writing the story as soon as she hung up the phone.

The afternoon from that point on became a voyage of self-discovery for her. The story spilled out on her computer monitor as her fingers flew over the keys, seemingly with a will of their own. The story developed of its own accord, the characters speaking unconscious truths about Chloe's fascination with penetrating the male asshole.

And the writing got her very, very wet. So wet, in fact, that she did something she had never done in her entire time as a faculty member at the university.

Chloe Burrell locked her office door, drew the blinds on the single window, sat down in the fake leather chair at her desk, and slid her slacks and her panties to her feet as she scrolled back up to the start of her story. She needed desperately to play with her clit and her pussy as she read the story she had just written. Her tale of two lovers, the woman leading the man through the stages that would have him ready and eager to surrender his tight opening, had her squirming in arousal as she had typed, translating into words on her computer monitor the action and characters that were rushing to her mind. Chloe had imprinted the story with her own passion to penetrate a man who would become her perfect mate.

It was so easy to write the story. The things she had read in the months since Georgia's first admission of her favorite fantasy, especially the advice from women who blogged about the subject in the various online venues which Chloe had trolled for more information about her obsession, meant she was quite prepared to write about how a woman could gently and lovingly guide a man to the point of desperation for her to push deep inside his virgin hole.

Now it would be hot—so very hot—to read her own fantasy. It had made her pussy wet when she wrote it, even though the "reader" part of her brain wasn't fully attending to the actions or the words of her characters. Now, though, she could sit back and enjoy the story, knowing that what was to come in the tale would be exactly what HER idea was of ultimate eroticism. Chloe was eager to read about her heroine, Simone, who knew exactly how to bring the man, Trent (and his glorious, firm ass!) inevitably to the state of abandoning any thought in his head except for one (Go inside me, please!) and abandoning all ability to focus on any sensation except the crazysexyhot feeling Simone was creating in his asshole.

Yes, this story was written in order to be what Georgia would like to fantasize about as she masturbated under the fMRI machine in Chloe's lab, but it was also devised to be the most erotically persuasive description of the entire process of female-to-male penetration Chloe could produce. In every aspect of the narrative, from the woman's desire to make the man feel great to the care she took with his precious asshole and the lengths she went to caress and pamper him through each stage of his journey to ultimate surrender, Chloe's subconscious magically authored a story that aroused her intensely as the words popped up rapid-fire on her computer screen. It was a given that the story would get Georgia wet, hot, and eager to experience her favorite type of orgasm.

Chloe desperately hoped it would also lengthen and harden Rick's cock as he read it.

If he is a strapon virgin—the default assumption, she reasoned—the story must appeal in a way that would erase any preconceived notion, any reluctance about stereotypical gender roles, and be so hot that Rick would be fascinated and drawn to the idea of exposing and surrendering himself. The story had to be very erotic, make the idea of female penetration of the male anus arousing and seductive for a man, and accomplish these things in a manner that would not scare Rick away from the research.

From Chloe.

It was a tall order, especially since Chloe knew so little of this man (and nothing of his likes or dislikes sexually). Somehow, though, the requirements to turn on Georgia to get what was needed for the experiment in the lab, AND to turn on Rick, to get what Chloe longed for in an experiment in her bedroom, filtered through to her subconscious author. The zone Chloe found herself in as she wrote her tale was as empowering as it was erotic.

If the story aroused Rick anywhere near as much as it was arousing Chloe, then she would have succeeded in her first attempt as a writer of erotica.

And it would be the ultimate irony if her profession, with all the years of self-sacrifice and resulting lack of time to cultivate any personal intimate relationships, was now the thing that had provided her with the opportunity to find BOTH a man she might want to be with AND to coax him quickly toward the idea of surrendering his asshole to her strapon dildo.

With a mounting sense of anticipation to play reader to the words that had rushed in a torrent from her subconscious, Chloe drew one leg out of the rumpled cotton material at her feet which was her slacks and panties. She wanted to spread her legs wider. Her pussy was already wet. The fake leather would be easy to wipe down with a tissue from the box on her desk. She slid down just a little in the chair, tipping her crotch up a bit so that her entire pussy was easily accessible as she sat before her computer monitor. She could run her fingers completely up and down the entire length of her pussy lips.

She was at her desk in her office, for god's sake, about to masturbate as she sat naked from the waist down.

Wait. Her nipples. She knew it would feel so delicious to pinch and tug on her nipples as she stroked her clit while she read. Chloe unbuttoned her blouse. Today she had worn a favorite bra. It unhooked in the front. She undid the clasp, the cups of the bra falling to her sides, her nipples already hardened, areolae already pimpled in sexual arousal. Shivering briefly with the rush brought on by doing this so-wrong but so-sexy-naughty thing in her office (even with the door locked and the blinds drawn), Dr. Chloe Burrell exposed her breasts, her clit, her pussy to the easy access she had to have to those physiological pleasure triggers. Then she settled languidly back in her chair, mouse with scroll wheel positioned at the edge of the desk, about to dive into her story with the biggest pleasure trigger she possessed: Her mind.