top of page
Search

M.O.I.P. (different universe)

Inside his jacket, Henry Ross’s hand pressed a recently activated button which turned on a feature of the retainer that had not been used thus far, a little knob which now began to protrude from the inner shaft of the vaginal dildo to press against and rub against the girl’s G-spot --

“OH! JESUS!!” the girl shouted hoarsely, her head jutting forward, her eyes an explosion of amazement. Her body jerked forward again, then again, and as the spasms continued her feet slapped on the wood floor and she did a strange, frantic dance, turning this way and that as the convulsions overtook her.

It so happened she had been looking directly at Reverend Stipend as she shouted his Lord’s name at the moment of orgasm. The Reverend, apoplectic with rage, slammed his hands on the table and stormed out of the room, the sound of his shoes thudding loudly across the floor as the girl jiggled and lurched, the number over her clit changing to “21”.

When the spasms were over and Tami looked up, catching her breath and feeling another wave of sweat drenching her hair and running down into her eyes, she saw that most of the committee had left. Only Noyes, the Dean and Ross remained. Blessedly, she felt the buzzing decrease, though it still kept on.

She felt a little more lucid. As she stood upright again, her feet well apart, firmly braced on the cool wood floor, her concave tummy heaving in and out as her lungs filled her body with oxygen, she noticed that the mood had changed. The Dean looked shaken and pale. Ross looked very concerned as well, though whether that concern was real or faked was impossible to tell. And Noyes was sitting there sternly in icy calm.

The Dean spoke in a small, quiet voice, unusual for him. “Miss Smithers, thank you, thank you for your time. “

Bzz -- zzz -- zzz --

Tami nodded and then, with calm but slightly jagged steps, walked out. She held her tummy muscles in as she tried to contain her arousal. The buzzing, quieter though it was now, was still insistent. After two intense orgasms, she wanted to rest, but the stimulating devices would not let her.

She got onto the elevator and absently pushed the button to do down. Halfway down she realized she had pushed “SUB”, for sub-basement, by mistake. Yet she did nothing about it, looking at the lit button as it took her down, down, down . . . She reflected on that meeting. Yes, it was terribly shaming. Yes, she hated Henry Ross for playing her body like a pinball machine while the others watched her come twice. Yes, she hated being so responsive and having such an apparently endless capacity for multiple orgasms.

But two things dawned on her. She had passed that most excruciating test and hadn’t cracked, hadn’t begged for clothing or for this horrid apparatus to be taken off. And she had got the better of the Dean, somehow. After a little more thinking she figured out that he and Ross had tried to get her to crack, trying to shame her by making her come in front of the committee. But she hadn’t caved in. And because she didn’t crack, it had backfired. The Dean was in trouble now, somehow. She felt like a prisoner who had been interrogated under torture and refused to squeal. And now, having shown that she was un-crackable, she was about to be set free. Finally.

Bzz -- zzz -- zzz --

The door opened to the subbasement and Tami decided to step out onto the cold bare concrete. There was nothing here but cinderblock walls and maintenance equipment. The cool, damp air and the solitude was a relief to the tired girl. Quivering, feeling another orgasm coming on, hoping that the buzzing would stop but knowing it was useless to hope, she collapsed into a cross-legged sitting position, her bare butt on the cold concrete, her bare back leaning against the hard cinderblock wall. Her head bumped against the wall as her face turned up, eyes closed.

“Ohhh . . . ohhh . . . “ The moans echoed through the empty room. She was alone, thankfully, and could have her next orgasm on her own terms. She breathed in and out, moaning freely, almost praying, communing with God as she crested into a wave of pleasure once again. “Ohh -- ohh -- ohh -- ” Her hips jerked up rhythmically with the spasms, a little wearily now. Sitting, she could feel the dildo in her butt sticking right up into her guts, and felt her sphincter grab the hard intruder at regular intervals, grab and release, grab and release . . . She was becoming aware of all the body’s reactions of orgasm. An orgasm expert, having had so many of them.

As she relaxed in the afterglow, feeling the buzzing continue, knowing she was destined for yet another climax in a few moments, she thought of her victory over the Dean and Ross, of her newfound inner strength, of the fact that her travails would end soon, she started giggling. Maybe being forced into orgasm after orgasm all day was finally driving her crazy. Whatever the reason, she giggled and moaned and caught her breath and giggled some more as she leaned over onto her side, her face gratefully feeling the coolness of the floor, as she was dragged up to yet another crest . . .

. . .

The full moon lit up the campus with a pallid glow, strong enough to throw faint shadows. The air was wet, damp, as was the ground, three hours having passed since the rain ended and the clouds began clearing. Now, at 3:00 a.m., there was no one outside on this ghostly landscape, except for one stark naked girl, walking across the soccer field from the Chalfont Institute, headed toward the main part of campus. The air was chilly; warm nights in this north country were restricted to June and July, and it was still May. Goosebumps were raised on her skin, especially on her bare butt and her breasts. Her nipples were a little sore but stood out in the cold. Her breath formed little clouds. Cold water from the sodden grass squished up between her toes. And to her it all felt good.

She gladly took in the fresh air, glad to be fully naked again, glad that she no longer had bristles attacking her nipples and dildos lodged deep inside her pussy and rectum. Her arousal sated for what seemed like weeks into the future, she was glad to have her head clear. She stopped once or twice, thanking God the ordeal was over, and knew herself to be happy in a way she hadn’t been in a long time.

Yes, her mind still felt a bit scrambled after all those orgasms. She had endured orgasm after orgasm in that Rossland Hall sub-basement, going on and on endlessly, an eternal Hell, the buzzing going on and on, then decided out of desperation to stagger to Chalfont, hoping that McMasters would be there to take those things out of her ahead of time. But no, the exhausted, spasming girl was told by one of the other doctors that McMasters wasn’t there yet, and she had been directed to the faculty lounge to wait it out until the appointed hour.

She had stumbled and practically dragged herself to the lounge, unsure whether she remembered the directions she had been given, but there it was, a nicely-appointed room with a carpet and soft chairs, deserted at this hour. She had sat on the floor, head between her knees, looking up at the clock over the door from time to time, but mostly looking down and weeping as another orgasm crested, then another, then another. . . At eight o’clock the buzzing finally stopped and she keeled over, falling asleep immediately.

At nine o’clock the buzzing started again as she awoke and wailed in anguish, but the whole building was empty by then and nobody heard her. Holding herself tight in her vibrating little prison, she endured another series of orgasms. By then they had become weak little bunches of quivers, and she stared ahead without emotion, perhaps in shock, perhaps in fatigue, perhaps with the demented look of someone who had been driven insane. Finally the buzzing stopped and she looked up and saw that it was five minutes to ten. She weakly got up, holding her head in her hands and noticed the portraits on the wall and, just before she turned out to the hall, noticed the portrait of herself that had been presented at the banquet, Tami the proud and unashamed, the Tami she had wanted to be, mounted in a place of honor over a fine oak credenza.

She lurched into Lab 6 and saw McMasters and Mr. Zipkin there and flung herself onto the exam table. She was barely conscious as they removed the bristle bra and, with great care, the retaining panties. Did she hear Zipkin say “68”? What did that mean? The number of orgasms? No matter, she fell asleep immediately, lying on her side on the table, her butthole, still stretched wide open, fully in view.

She had awakened at 2:45 a.m., still a little groggy, in a darkened room. In fact as she made her way out to the hall she saw the whole place was dark and nobody was around. It was creepy, and the weary girl was relieved to feel the cold air filling her lungs as she stepped outside. Now, in fact, walking across the wet field, she felt a little giddy in her weariness. She had won a victory over the Dean. And had only 14 days left to freedom and clothes. She thought of Ned and Ethel, doubtless fast asleep at this hour.

Weary though she was, the naked teenager began to skip and then limply run across the grass. Attempting a cartwheel, she slipped on the wet grass and fell on her butt, feeling the cold textured rubbery wetness under her bare back. She giggled, looking up at the moon. She enjoyed these natural sensations, she wished she could be naked only at times like now when there was nobody to see. Grinning at herself for having this thought, she got on all fours and stuck her butt up at the moon and, using muscles she was just becoming aware of, without using her hands she managed to open her butthole, which had been closed for only a few hours anyway, with the idea that beams of moonlight could go right into her butt. She shook her head. I’ve really gone crazy. But it feels good anyway!

She stumbled back up to her feet, and looked back at Chalfont, and then up to the darkened height of Rossland Hall, and knew she had defeated them both. Ha ha. She was also aware of being very, very hungry. As she happily, wearily walked back to her dorm, feeling grass and then concrete and then gravel under her bare feet, she thought ahead to the dining hall and how she would be really pigging out in a few hours at breakfast. Mmmm . . . eggs. . . toast . . . juice . . .

50 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

“Throaters” v. “Plungers”

Angela supposed she should be admiring the virtuosity of these two girls. “Throaters” and “Plungers” each had an online page on which they discussed the most effective techniques in bringing the Sire

memos

Dr. Horok assures me that D.’s nipples are in no danger.  She appears to be in pain when the weights are put on but that is simply due to shame and shock.  She can handle 150g per nipple if she is wor

Tami finally has had enough

Tami exhaled deeply before opening the big entrance door. At least she knew Wanda was not in charge here. The Institute might be big and old and creepy and insensitive, but at least it was not evil.

Comments


bottom of page