"What's that?" Dr. Wit Chiver turned his eyes from the closed-circuit television and looked at Libby Talma, his colleague, an attractive sociologist nearing middle-age.
"I don't know. I can't hear above the running water. Something about eleven o'clock."
"That's when the therapy session ends." He looked at. the control board on the desk. The picture on the monitor disappeared and was replaced by dark and obscure contours. "That's the frozen frame just before orgasm."
"How long before?"
"Thirty seconds. I wish we could get a fitting of the camera nearer to the entrance to the vagina."
"Well, we get some of the same readings from the close-ups of the clitoris."
"Too general. If we could just get a measure of clitoral erection… "
"Can I see the tape of the vaginal contractions again?"
The design on the screen began to move. The lines of muscle separated toward the sides of the television's face. When the dilation passed, Libby pressed her thumb down on the stop watch in her hand. "Four seconds," she said softly. The tape whirred as Chiver pulled the switch. "Get me the timing on the next one." Again the muscle opened. "Three seconds."
"That's true to Miss Carson's test patterns, isn't it?" he asked. He proffered a fresh pack of cigarettes to Libby and she shook her head in agreement. He tugged at the crisp cellophane, retrieved a cigarette, and lit it.
"By the way, have you got her replacement?"
He exhaled in a ring that floated above the TV. "A woman was referred by Dr. Lawrence in gynecology at the Municipal Hospital.
"How does she sound?"
"Young-he says she's quite attractive, and not prudish. She came to him complaining that she thought she was a nymphomaniac. He persuaded her it was nonsense, and suggested she see us. She's new in town, which is fine. I want the surrogate therapists to have as few ties with the townspeople as possible. It's easier on the women, and it's a protection against scandal."
"When do you see her?"
Chiver started, then looked down at his wristwatch. "In about five minutes. We have a ten-thirty appointment. You're welcome to interview her with me."
"These women are really more at ease with men than with other women. Several that I've interviewed have later told me the same thing-that I seemed scornful. That's nonsense, of course, but still… "
She rose and walked casually to the door. "Lunch?"
Chiver nodded. He turned his attention to the small animated box on his desk. The orgasmic contractions were like lightning spasms. He depressed an illuminated yellow button and the picture changed again. He turned the sound switch on, and the conversation in the room was heard through a small speaker attached to the side of the television.
Terri Carson rose off Bud Jones' penis. She moved the phallus head against the labial flaps. It was larger than normal, but not fully stiff. "Oh, come on, fuck me, make it hard… " She squeezed the damp tool in her fist.
Susie Giver phoned Stu Boston, the editor of Woman magazine, from a booth at a gas station one mile down the highway from the Institute for Socio-Sexual Research. "I'm going for the interview as soon as I get off the phone, Stu," she said with annoyance. "I don't want to be late."
"Well," he answered slowly. She imagined him at his desk in New York, his fingers combing through masses of paper clutter. She looked at her watch and only heard the last of the sentence. "… and I want you to keep detailed notes on every step. Including the interview. Hear me?"
"I hear you." Exasperated, she placed the receiver on the silver hook and left the booth. She ran to her car, a Mercury Cougar, and shivered at the warmth from the heater that assaulted her when she settled behind the wheel. She released the emergency brake, pushed on the accelerator, and the car lurched out of the station's driveway.
"Dr. Chiver will see you right away." Susie thought she detected disapproval for her slight tardiness in the nurse's last phrase. She followed the slim attendant inside the wood-paneled office. A gray-haired man in his late fifties, dressed in a dark business suit, arose behind the huge mahogany desk and extended his hand. He gestured that she sit down.
"The first question, of course, is whether you want the job. Dr. Lawrence said you weren't sure-"
In her enthusiasm, Susie cut him off. "I've thought about it a lot, and I have decided I would like the job."
"That is fine," Chiver smiled, and Susie wondered if he wore dentures. He was, she thought, quite handsome. "Then I guess we had better begin. Did Dr. Lawrence tell you that there would be certain… tests?" He paused and tried to read her mind and her reactions from her eyes. Giving up, he continued. "I'm afraid that if you find them embarrassing, you may find much of the therapist's workload embarrassing."
Her gleaming smile reassured him. "What shall I do first?"
"There is first an oral interview. Quite general." He opened the drawer of his desk and removed a sheath of mimeographed pages. He took a new pencil from an open. canister and tapped it on the leather edge of the ink blotter. "May I?"
Susie nodded.
"Have you ever masturbated?"
"Yes?"
"When was the first time?"
"I was thirteen."
"To climax?"
"Almost always."
"With foreign objects injected into the vagina?"
"Occasionally. "
"When was your first sexual experience, apart from autoerotic play?"
"At fourteen."
"Intercourse?"
"Yes. I-"
"Was there extensive precoitaI play, say with a boyfriend, before you were fourteen?"
"Several. But not many. Not until I actually started fuck-" The slip was intentional, but the blush was automatic.
"That's certainly all right, Miss Giver. We don't hold to any Victorian taboos around here. It would be hypocritical."
She nodded thoughtfully. "As I was saying… "
"Dr. Lawrence said that you evidenced a fear of nymphomania. Did it begin then, at fourteen?"
"Not the fear so much. That came later, in the past year, when one of the men I was sleeping with called me a whore. That upset me."
"Of course." Chiver's tone was fatherly. He looked down at the questionnaire. "Any experience with other women?"
She hesitated purposefully, but then she answered. "A few times."
"Were there orgasms?"
She blinked and nodded her head vigorously. "There certainly were."
"Would you have any objections-under scientific circumstances, of course-to performing acts of a homosexual nature in the Institute?"
"I… I guess not."
"Good, good." He looked up and twirled the pencil between his index finger and thumb. "One more thing. Have you ever engaged in sexual activities with more than one partner at a time?"
"Well, when I was working in New York, I used to belong to a swingers' club. I guess you know what those are."
"Certainly." He inhaled deeply and betrayed his interest as he cupped his. chin in hand.
"There were different combinations. Sometimes two girls and a guy, sometimes two men and two women, sometimes a whole bunch of people."
"So that would be acceptable, then, as well?"
"I don't see why not."
"The alarm will ring in ten minutes." The door closed, and Wit Chiver's face was lost behind it. Susie Giver found herself alone in a small white room. Rectangular, it was bare except for a single bed. Even the blanket above the clean and pressed sheets was white.
She was totally nude except for the elastic band Chiver's nurse had wrapped around her thigh. A small wire reached out and squirmed inside her vagina. It scratched her as she moved to the bed. She relaxed easily, and her legs raised off the floor. She stared at the small hump in the elastic where, Chiver had said, the transistors were placed. One thin wire was dangling loose. Yards long, it ended finally under the door that had just closed.
She had no time to lose, though she expected ten minutes would be long enough to produce an orgasm. She stroked her stomach softly with her fingers. She pressed her legs together, and the walls of her cunt meshed. She was warm inside, but not yet moist. She rested her pinky on the fillip of pink flesh that was dormant. She pressed it down. She rolled it over the tangle of black-brown pubic hair. She circled the tab with the smooth nail of her forefinger. Her left hand rolled the skin over her hipbone. She arched her spine and her breasts rolled up. Her wrist jammed against her hipbone, and she bent her arm at the elbow. The left breast moved toward her face. She tried to turn the tip toward her, and stuck her tongue out toward her chin. She just barely grazed the surface of the intricate texture with her tongue. Saliva made the chocolate-brown shine in the crisp morning daylight of the antiseptic room.
Her forefinger slid into the valley between the two breasts. She followed the straight line. Now, one breast in each hand, she rolled the willowy mountains of flesh. The soft forms changed like the shadows of running figures. The tit hardened to pudding texture, then to hot coal. She licked the other areola, and tiny beads erected inside the ebony rim.
She rubbed her ass against the bed's mattress. Her feet moved off the side of the bed, and her toes curled around the lines of the cold metal frame. Her right hand moved to the space between her sprawled limbs. The index touched the loose-muscled globes of her ass, almost hidden behind the archway. But now the long finger moved past the crack to the clitoris. She twisted the puckered labia, then dug deep inside the tightened chasm of the vagina to wet her finger. She coated the rising clit with the new fluid. Her pelvis pushed forward and her forefinger drowned inside the cunt while she bent the index back. Its knuckle scraped the yielding tissue of the tiny berry.
Her body ground out a quick rhythm, though she moved only below the waist. She sniffed and smelled her cunt odor in the windowless room. She blinked at the overhead fluorescent light, and it was then that her eyes fixed on the small. circle in the west comer of the room. A half-inch inside of the black plastic rim was a glass lens. She held her breath with the sudden knowledge that she was being photographed. "It's like a stag movie," she thought in horror. But she proceeded because of the fear that she might not climax within the allotted time; thus she might lose the job that would win her, Susie Giver-a lowly editorial researcher a staff writing job on Woman.
Her thumb crossed over the inflated clitoral ridge, and with each wet stroke she cared less that she was being observed, and more about the satisfying orgasm she knew would surely come.
"Ah… " Her voice whistled as she murmured to herself, oblivious now of the camera. She rubbed the clitoris fiercely. She pushed the long, bony fingers inside the oozing chute. She turned the digits of her hand and stretched the sides of the opening. She was wet. The path of the fingers was made slick and easy by the oil that dripped now from the lining of the vagina and greased luxuriously the slivers of raw pink labia.
"Uh… uh!" she grunted, and her legs spread so far apart that she thought she had sprained them. The heels pushed into the mattress, and her ass left the bed. Her right arm rubbed lightning-fast at the clit while her left straightened and flailed in the air. She felt her ass bounce up and down as she came, but the inside of her was lost in a vacuum in space. She bit at her lower lip and drew a thin line of blood. She tasted salt as the walls of the twat opened and then shut tightly around the machine of her joined fingers.
Chiver snapped the rubber clamps down over her wrists and fastened them to the panel. He attached a rectangular slab of plate glass to the one-way mirror. The glass, just below her nostrils, recorded the force and frequency of her breathing. Another tiny camera, placed on a small tripod to her left, focused on the curve of her pupils to measure dilation.
"When do they begin, Doctor?" Susie felt uncomfortable. She expected at any moment that either the slim blonde behind the glass or the overweight gentleman in his early thirties would look her straight in the eye and blanch with horror. But they did not.
"There is naturally a process of acquaintance before they… begin therapy."
"Does the girl know she's being watched?"
Chiver's eyebrows flexed. "In coming to work for the Institute, she went through" the same series of tests that you're going through now. So that she knows it is possible. But," and here he paused, emphasizing his words deliberately, "we at the Institute value privacy less than the acquisition of knowledge about sex and the successful treatment of sexual problems through one-to-one consultation." Susie nodded agreeably.
She noticed some action through the glass. Both the girl, whom the patient had called Terri, and the fat man were naked. His penis was noodle-limp between his legs. Fat bulged out to almost cover it.
The man's round face seemed to grow larger as the girl took the bent pole in her hand. It was hidden now from Susie's view. She glanced down and saw smoke form on the glass beneath her nostrils. She was breathing heavier, faster, she noted with surprise. She wondered if her pulse also showed her excitement.
Terri Carson drew her hand away and Susie saw that the small prick was stiff. The therapist pulled on the foreskin, and the heavy man's shoulders rose as his mouth opened to take in air. The fat on his thighs jiggled as her fingers brushed his skin. She pushed her fingers inside the wrinkled scrotal bag. The man's hand clutched at the edge of the mattress and his body moved back.
"Oh yes, that's right, Harry. That's just right," Terri murmured, and she put her hands on his shoulders. Now Susie saw only her back and, under her arm, the sides of her large swinging breasts. Gently, the girl pushed Harry down to the bed. He drew his legs up toward him from the floor, and she probed between his legs for the small but erect treasure.
Her other hand massaged his almost feminine breasts. A soft humming came from his throat. Terri's elbow bobbed as she drew the foreskin expertly up and down the sides of the slender prong. Involuntarily, Susie felt her right hand pull away from its moorings on the electronic board toward her chest, but she was strapped firmly. Instead, she rolled her wrist against the metal panel. She shifted in her seat.
"That's it, Harry, oh, yeah… I told you you'd get hard." The mass of flab stirred on the bed. "Do you want to fuck me? I want you to fuck me, if you want to." She clutched his upper arm, and he rose toward her on his own power. The fat rode down his chest.
Terri tossed her head lazily back toward one shoulder while she began again to thrust her stomach forward into his. Harry's tool surged into the first few inches of her vaginal tunnel. She wiggled the cunt-walls against the fully penetrated dork. Her hands clamped the broad buttocks, which shivered like Jell-O inside the grip. He moved straight inside her with each forward stroke. Her hips pushed her crotch up into the mass of his stomach. The fat man breathed heavily. He wheezed as if near the end of along foot race.
"Oh… that's real, good, Harry… real good. Oh, yeah, I love your prick. Do it to me, do it to me good." Spasms of pleasure racked the man's fleshy body as he delivered his load of cream near the beginning of the long vaginal hole. Susie wondered if the therapist was only imitating the orgasm that appeared to rock her lithe, lovely body.
The coupling behind the plate glass froze into a tableau, and Susie, still breathing hard, turned to Dr. Chiver. He in turn looked down at a meter from which he read the rate of pulse contraction. He smiled. "Once the films are developed, I'm sure you'll have passed the test. No one who has shown a similar increase in pulse rate has ever failed."
Susie was relieved. "What's next?"
"There is a second part to the arousal index. It is not as important, but it does indicate whether you are a fully sensuous woman, because it shows whether you can be excited by the mere representation of sexual contact."
Chiver walked slowly and deliberately to a file cabinet m the corner of the testing room. He withdrew a manila folder crammed with several thick magazines. "These are so-called pornographic pictures, Miss Giver. While you look at these, the various tests will produce further readings as to pulse and so on. In the meantime, my assistant and I will set up the screen." A young Filipino moved to the closet, and Dr. Chiver helped him with a movie screen. "Begin whenever you like, Miss Giver. Just press that red button."
Susie opened the top magazine to the first page. Absent-mindedly, her hand pushed in the red button. The first few pages were fairly tame. Nude young people cavorted around a swimming pool. But, as she turned page after page, the bodies touched-at first casually, but soon with erotic intent.
The next magazine and the magazine after that varied from the single theme of intercourse. The second showed attractive teen-agers in surprising lesbian poses. The next magazine described in unretouched detail the progression of an orgy at what was supposed to be a huge "singles' apartment house. "
The films that Chiver projected were a grainy black-and-white, but Susie found them more arousing because of the soundtracks. She sweated profusely as a Mexican prostitute exposed her breast to a potential customer in a dingy alley. She waited tensely as the whore led the man to a door marked HOTEL. The prostitute marched in first, followed by the john. The scene shifted to the interior of the woman's small room.
She started to strip immediately. She was not pretty, but her body was thin and well-developed. She was young, certainly under thirty. She reached behind her and pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress. She hunched her shoulders and drew the fabric down her chest. She stepped out of it and was naked except for her bra, girdle, and stockings. She struggled out of the girdle after first unsnapping the sheer nylons. She turned her almost-nude back to her male patron, who undid the hooks. She turned around. Her breasts were full, though not completely firm. She walked to a bureau drawer and took something from it. The next close-up showed it to be a prophylactic.
She gestured for the man to sit down on the edge of the rumpled bed. The camera zoomed in on his considerable erection. Deftly her fingers unrolled the rubber balloon down the length of the member. The man breathed hard and closed his eyes. Her fingers pressed it through his pubic hair to the skin surrounding the cock's base.
A long shot showed the man pushing his body along the bed until his head rested on a pillow. "Blow me," Susie heard him say. The film's sound was muffled. She could hear, in the background, noises from the small camera crew. She felt hot. Sweat streamed onto the surface of her underarms.
"Five American dollars extra for suck." The girl's accent was thick. Close-up of man, who nodded. The camera focused on the girl's lips, as they hesitated above the mast. The white edges of her teeth pushed out from behind her lips before the vacuum of the whole mouth covered the phallus head. She bit hard on the foreskin below the glans, and the man groaned in complaint.
He shoved his penis deeper inside her mouth. She rose up off the stem and circled the staff in a spiral. Just the tip of her tongue touched the cock. She pulled at the scrotum and stretched it. She drew her mouth off the instrument. "Tell me when you're ready," she muttered thickly. The transparent rubber shined with her saliva. She opened her mouth again and sucked in. Her head bobbed. She seemed to be wrenching the fluid out of him. "Now," he gasped, and immediately she raised her face.
Her hands touched his shoulders. She kneeled and then spread her legs slightly, though her knees were still between his own. She bent the man's prick to her twatlips. Slowly the interior of her vagina swallowed and covered the thick, solid branch.
"Push," she told him throatily. Susie lowered her eyes and saw her own breasts heave inside the cage of her brassiere. She brought her thighs together underneath her dress, hoping to grant her clitoris some friction. Her buttocks jammed into the upholstered seat.
Perhaps a hand-held camera was placed on the male's chest, because now the screen was filled with the greased joinings of rubber-covered muscle and steaming, wet hole. Grunting was heard on both sides. The camera drew back. The Mexican girl's breasts wobbled. Her eyes were shut. Layers of skin at the sides of her hips rolled as she shoved her pubic region down on the spear.
The screaming bed almost covered the sounds of their voices as the john shot his rocks off into her cunt. A long shot from the head of the metal bed showed the girl's body as it lazily consumed the last squirts from the phallic tree.
"Well," said Dr. Chiver, cupping his hand on her left shoulder. "You are beyond doubt a sufficiently sensuous woman to serve as a surrogate partner and sexual therapist. When can you start?"
Susie feigned uncertainty. "Any time, I guess."
Chiver smiled.
"The therapist you saw in action, so to speak, this morning-Miss Carson-is leaving the clinic this week. Will Monday be all right? We have a particularly interesting new patient for you to work with. "