The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies (60 page)

Sometimes, when I have a few hours free for this fantasy, I focus on all the details of the question-and-answer period, the way the doctor’s eyes begin to glow in spite of his serious
expression, the way he shifts in his chair as if he might be arranging something in his pants. Other times I move quickly to the special section of the interview. After I’ve answered all the
questions, the doctor tells me I’ve been so cooperative, he’d like to invite me to participate in an extra “laboratory” phase of the study.

He leads me into a dimly lit room. In the centre of the room is a comfortable reclining lounge chair upholstered in a feminine, floral print. The doctor tells me to lie down and relax. He then
disappears into the shadowy corner of the room. He snaps on a warm, golden light that illuminates only my body on the chair. Then he explains in measured tones that I will be providing very
valuable data for his study if I agreed to allow him to film me masturbating.

I blush bright red and am about to jump up and stalk out, but his voice stops me, like a huge, warm hand pressing me back down in the chair.

He explains that I can take this at my own pace and end the session any time I begin to feel uncomfortable. “You’re in charge, Mrs C,” he says. “Just imagine you are in
your own home with some private time and you’ve decided to pleasure yourself. We will make it impossible to identify your face on the video. This is all for a good cause and will promote a
greater scientific understanding of female sexuality.”

Finally I consent, but for a while, I lie very still in the chair trying to psyche myself up to do this for a good cause, just as my colleagues at the library must have done before me. At last
my fingers creep up to unbutton my blouse.

“Wow, look what she’s doing!”

I squint into the shadows and see that there are actually three figures over in the corner: one crouching behind the video camera that’s set up on a tripod, the doctor with his clipboard
and another taller young man in jeans. The last one is the source of this enthusiastic exclamation.

I realize the doctor lied to me. This is a show, not science. But the truth is this is my fantasy, to be watched while I’m masturbating, not only for the advancement of science but for the
personal education of three curious men.

I pull my blouse over my shoulders. My bra opens from the front (as if I’d known this would be convenient when I dressed for the interview) and when I unfasten it, I hear another sigh from
the darkness. My breasts fall free into the cool air.

“Awesome tits.”

Then comes a harsh whisper, “Jeremy, Jr., I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room if you can’t restrain yourself from making unprofessional comments.”

I begin to tease my breasts. My nipples are highly sensitive – my husband calls them my “on buttons”.

“Look at the expression on her face,” the excited voice declares, heedless of the scolding. “She’s turned on already.”

He’s right. My mouth has already fallen open in that “oh” of arousal and my chest is all flushed with a pink rash. I pinch my nipples and roll them between my fingers. My pussy
is swelling and throbbing with tiny electric shocks of pleasure. I arch up in the chair. I want those men – young and old – to see it.

From the corner I hear heavy breathing, footsteps pacing, another deep voice making rhythmic grunts of frustrated desire.

I pull my skirt up to my waist and work my pantyhose down around my knees, my thoroughly wet panties nested inside. I put a finger to my clit. I spit on my other palm and start rubbing it all
over my chest.

A low moan comes from the corner. “Dad, she’s touching herself down there.”

The father shushes his son and clears his throat. “Ah, yes, Mrs C now is the time for the first question on our survey. Are you having any particular thoughts or fantasies at this
moment?”

“I’m thinking about rubbing hot spunk all over myself,” I gasp. “I love it when a man comes on my breasts. But my husband doesn’t do it often. He likes to come
inside me.” I’m strumming frantically now and whimpering with need. “I’m wishing a horny guy has just shot his load all over me . . .”

With a cry, a handsome young fellow in his early twenties leaps out from the shadows. He definitely resembles the doctor, but the long wavy hair and earring give him a sweeter look. In an
instant he’s standing over me, jeans at his knees, swollen dick in hand.

“I’ll help you, Mrs C,” he says. Such a Boy Scout. He stands by the chair, aiming his tool at my chest. With the other hand he reaches toward me.

“Don’t touch her,” the doctor yells. “That’s against medical ethics.” But there’s a hint of jealousy, too, because I’m smiling at the young man
and praising his hard, beautiful cock and telling him I can’t wait for him to spray all over me.

I think it’s going to happen soon by the look of him.

“I’m gonna come,” he pants. “Open your mouth, Mrs C. See how much you can catch on your tongue.”

Junior’s dirty game appeals to me, and I’m strumming myself furiously as his semen arcs over me. One shot hits the target, another my cheek, the rest dribbles onto my chest. I spread
the slick, soapy mess over my breasts, moaning with delight.

“More,” I whisper. I could come but I don’t want to. I want to float forever in this marvellous world above the clouds.

“Hey, Mike, she says she wants more. Do you want to try? I’ll man the camera for you. This lady’s super hot.”

A husky affirmative comes from behind the camera and another young man steps out, pulling a thick cylinder of meat from his pants.

This time I can’t help myself. I lean up and take that swollen, red knob in my mouth and start sucking it. Mike lets out a groan of appreciation.

“You can’t do that,” the doctor fusses. “This is a study of female masturbation, not a porno film.”

I have both of my hands clamped on Mike’s muscular arse and he’s all the way down my throat. I know he’s going to shoot his load soon, he’s getting so hard in my mouth.
It’s as if he’s pumping his excitement into me and even though I’m not playing with myself at that moment, my pussy juice is gushing onto the chair.

With a shudder, and a series of rapid thrusts, Mike ejaculates in my mouth. I hold it there and swirl it around with my tongue before I swallow it down. I’m so turned on, it tastes nasty
and sweet all at the same time.

Mike zips himself up, embarrassed now, and quickly retreats to the corner.

I still hear one man’s laboured breathing coming from the shadows.

“Doctor,” I call, “I believe it’s your turn. I still need a little help to get me over the top.”

He lets out a long sigh. It’s those last shreds of cool professionalism evaporating into the steamy air. Reluctantly he walks over, pausing every few steps, like he’s being drawn to
me, a fish on a line. He stops at the bottom of the chair. I can see his huge erection through his pants and a little stain of wetness at the outline of the tip. He tosses his clipboard on the
floor and fumbles with the chair. The footrest snaps down, and he yanks off my pantyhose and kneels between my legs, cock poised to enter me. Clearly he expects I’ll have intercourse with
him. After all he’s the doctor, the real man, the grand prize.

I smile. “Oh, no, Doctor, I have different plans for you. I want you to eat my pussy while you pull on your peter like the naughty boy you are. Isn’t that right, Doctor? All this
talk of scientific research when really you just want to see ladies play with themselves so that you can watch the video later in your office and get off. The truth is, Doctor, you are nothing more
than a dirty little masturbator.”

He can’t really answer because he’s already buried his face in my muff, his nose poking out over my fur. He is doing a good job, though, very professional. His tongue makes little
figure eights on my clit, so that I’m squirming and squealing like some kind of crazed animal. And of course his hand is down between his legs yanking his own tool, and that’s when I
come, thinking about him on his knees doing exactly as I’ve commanded. Or sometimes I wait a little for my satisfaction, until after he’s come. I like to watch him wiping himself with
his handkerchief and mopping the puddle of his own spunk from the floor.

My second fantasy is a little different, though I can spin this one out for hours, too. In this one, I’ve just been hired by a very prestigious company far away from my
home and my fiance. However, the job has great benefits and bright prospects for my career and I can’t turn it down. Because rent in the city is prohibitive, new employees are allowed to stay
in furnished company apartments. I’m in a spacious one-bedroom place with a huge, soft bed and mirrors all around.

One day, late in the afternoon, I am called into the president’s office for a private meeting. I’m nervous, thinking I must have done something wrong or my probation period
isn’t going well, but he’s very cordial and offers me a sherry and asks with apparent concern if I’m enjoying my work at his company.

Then he says there’s something important he wants to ask me, but first he’d like me to watch a few video clips. A rather blurry image comes on the TV he’s set up by his desk.
At first I can only make out a flesh-coloured form moving sinuously across the screen, but then it hits me what I’m watching. A movie of myself, naked. There must be some kind of video camera
hidden behind the large mirror at the bottom of my bed. I’ve hardly gotten over the shock of seeing myself stripped and exposed, when I have to watch myself do worse. The me in the video
starts squeezing my breasts and pouting at the mirror in my best porno queen imitation. Which is exactly what I was doing the night before because I was missing my boyfriend so much and pretending
I was dancing for him, the way he likes me to. Now I have to watch again as I slowly sink down and spread my legs and frig myself to a frenzy. A quick cut to a night the week before: me straddling
the edge of the bed and staining it with my pussy juice as I thrust and grind my arse into the mattress. This time the camera picks up my loud moans as I come. And then another night, the
naughtiest of all, when I was so horny for my boyfriend’s cock, I used a hairbrush to get myself off. At first I slide the handle in and out gently, but by the time I near climax, I’m
jabbing myself with it and sobbing with delight. It’s all on video, even me licking my own juices from the handle when I’m done.

I’m blushing fifty shades of scarlet and practically melting into the leather sofa with shame, but the boss puts his hand on my arm and says soothingly, “I didn’t show this to
embarrass you, Jessica. I think it’s wonderful that you are a very sexual woman who knows her own body and how to pleasure it.” He tells me he has a proposal for me. An important part
of his business strategy for his clients, especially international clients, involves a special team of attractive employees, mostly female, but there are a few males to allow for a variety of
tastes. He would like me to join this team. It involves special training, but also very special bonuses.

I’m not sure if I’m being blackmailed, but I’m also curious and I agree. He tells me the first training session will be the next afternoon in his office. I should have workout
clothes and anything I’ll need to take a shower afterward.

I show up the next day with my gym bag and am met by the president and a handsome young woman in skin-tight exercise clothes. Her short black hair stands up in spikes and her body is lean and
beautifully sculpted. I can tell she’s used to being in charge. Even the president seems a little afraid of her.

“Jessica, this is your teacher, Mira,” he says (sometimes I change the name, but usually it’s Mira). “She is going to train you in the Technique.”

With a firm hand, Mira leads me into a room that adjoins the president’s office. It’s like a dance studio with a mirror along one wall, some ballet bars and exercise mats and a
strange apparatus that look like a barrel that has been cut in half. A set of handlebars is attached to one end and the rounded top is fixed with something resembling a saddle. In the centre of the
saddle is a leather clip. I’m eyeing this weird object, trying to figure out what it is, but Mira is busy laying out some other devices, a set of small bubblegum pink barbells. The smallest
is the size of a pinkie finger, the largest a plump bratwurst. She explains that the company Technique is actually a form of strengthening “your most secret feminine muscles”. Her dark
eyes twinkle.

Before we start, however, she has to evaluate me. She tells me to lie back on the mat and pull down my pants and underwear. She puts some kind of lubricant on her finger and slides it into my
vagina. “Squeeze me as hard as you can,” she commands.

I notice the president is standing in the doorway watching. I squeeze.

“Can you do it any harder?” Mira asks.

I try, but I can tell from her frown she is disappointed in me.

“Well, it’s a start.” She looks over at the president. “She’ll need a lot of work.”

“I know Jessica has what it takes.”

Mira then goes on to explain that the Technique involves using the vaginal muscles to milk a man’s penis to orgasm in such a way that he doesn’t have to move at all, just lie there
and have the woman do it all. My muscles have to be stronger and I have to learn several other tricks first but, if the president is right about me, I’ll make the grade eventually. The first
exercise is to practise squeezing my muscles down there every day, with and without the barbells. Mira shimmies out of her pants and invites me to put my fingers inside her, to get an idea of what
I’m working for. “No lubricant necessary,” she winks.

Trembling with embarrassment and excitement, I slide two fingers into her pussy. The sensations are amazing. Her hot, satiny walls close in around me and begin to undulate, rippling and kneading
with perfectly controlled timing until my finger is tingling and my shirt is damp with sweat.

Mira smiles and eases my fingers from her body. Then she informs me that the second exercise requires that I come into the studio after work. She glances up at the president.