Interview with Tami Smithers
This article is for internal use only. Not for release outside the Institute, except as required by law.
My Interview with the Professor by Stephanie Weingarten(continued)
"Tonya Loomis," the girl said once we got out into the hallway, giving me a handshake and a bright toothy smile that contrasted with her black skin. She was enthusiastic and full of energy, like a kid. "Bet that meeting was boring. I hear you're on the up-and-up."
I looked over at Rod, who was in the hallway with us, sipping hot chocolate he had made. He nodded to me.
"So there's more to see. Let me show you our 'underworld'."
I looked over at Rod again. "Go ahead. I'm not comfortable down there." Strange he would say that, about his own house.
Tonya led me around a little bend in the hall, then down a narrow stairway I hadn't seen before, which led to a very narrow door. It was not as far below as the basement I had seen.
The door opened into a dark cave of some kind. As Tonya closed the door behind us I was in a world of shadows and strange odors and furtive movements. Or at least furtive now, with my eyes not used to the darkness. I heard sounds like people eating. And a background whirring, like an air conditioner. Lastly I heard Tami's voice coming from a speaker to my side, mounted on what I imagined was a black-painted wall.
"Yes . . . the amortization -- works out . . . What do you think -- Jane?"
Tonya said, "Watch where you step, it's complicated." I looked down and couldn't see a thing. As my eyes got further used to the dark I could see little glow-in-the-dark painted steps going down. But it was better to feel with the soles of my shoes, like a blind person.
We turned an invisible, black-painted corner and suddenly a bare tanned pinky toe, sticking out sideways, flexing to and fro and smeared with what looked like peanut butter, almost hit me in the face. As I saw the other toes and the rest of the foot I saw two women, one middle-aged and one younger, slathering more peanut butter on it with butter knives and then sucking on the toes.
"This is Hermine and Gladys," Tonya said. The two looked at me with a smile. Then Hermine started ravenously licking the coated bare heel as Gladys reached down to where a large jar of peanut butter sat on a little stand, along with jars of jelly and some other things. With her fingers Gladys scooped out more and vigorously worked it in between the toes, spreading them, massaging them. The toes were already widely spread so they could hold quite a lot. But Gladys stuffed them some more. "I love doing this, it's so sensuous," she explained. Meanwhile Hermine licked the heel, giving it little bites, scraping her teeth against it. The foot reacted sensuously, flexing and unflexing, the toes spreading and wiggling as if dancing with Gladys's fingers and tongue.
"Do you -- think the trustees would go for -- that?" Tami's voice came through on the local speaker, still engrossed in the conversation above. I though of the bald, disembodied head somewhere above us, poking up from the hole in the table, and of Tami trying to concentrate on that boring meeting while her toes were being smeared with peanut butter and sucked and licked. And of Rod, on the periphery, sipping his hot chocolate, no doubt aware of what she was dealing with below.
The foot was sideways. I saw the ankle and shin. The leg was extended out to us. I tried to see where it came from but it was too dark.
Tonya led me on, around a little curve. As I took a last look back at Hermine, Gladys and Tami's foot I saw that they had quite the little setup. A very dim light, like a dashboard light on a car, glowed bluishly above them. They were on high chairs around the little stand. They could stay there for hours, or until they got full. Like a table at a darkly lit restaurant, their little corner. The last thing I saw was their hands, clasped together affectingly under the stand.
I turned another corner to the left, then my eyes were arrested by a brightly-lit red aperture a few feet ahead of me, spread by what I could see was a speculum. I gasped in what must have been horror or shock -- I guessed it to be the interior of a vagina. As Tonya led me closer I remembered the direction the toes had been pointing and realized we were actually at the rear. Tami's rectum! I resisted Tonya's hand guiding my shoulder forward but then found myself lurching forward myself, morbidly fascinated at this sight that was so strange to me.
It was not a speculum, it was a ring-shaped thing which held the sphincter wide open while leaving the surrounding areas accessible. Two women were at the sides, perched on chairs, caressing the stretched ring and probing inside with what looked like little spatulas. Inside, the red walls quivered and twitched at their attentions. The light came from the donut itself, which must have had little filaments in it. Ingenious. I wondered if Tami's friend Homer had designed it. As I drew closer I could see the dim tracery of Tami's split butt cheeks above, trim and tight, and the junction of the legs spreading out to each side in almost a ballet dancer's split.
The sphincter was spread impossibly wide -- maybe three inches. The woman on the left, middle-aged with white hair, placed her wrinkled, pointed finger inside as she looked back at me. "Hi," she clasped her other hand in mine. "I'm Belinda. Welcome to the Vault."
"Tami's most secret place," the other woman said as if with pride. "This is her center, if you ask me. . . Come on in."
She gently took my hand. I resisted, and freed it. "Sorry... it's just...too..."
Seeing the look of revulsion on my face, Belinda said, "Don't worry, she's perfectly clean. She flushes herself all the way up."
I didn't know what that meant, but I detected a coconut aroma. Not unpleasant at all, like in Tami's office. I watched as Belinda reached all the way in and swept her finger to and fro. Tami's inner walls heaved and sighed in response. The other woman bent over and licked her side of the ring. The left butt cheek twitched.
"Without -- subcommittee approval -- I don't know -- " Tami's voice came through the nearest speaker. I thought of the exquisite, intimate stimulation she was receiving. While her toes were being slathered with peanut butter and sucked on.
"Let me show you something," Belinda said, withdrawing her hand. "Come closer."
I bent down and looked up, right up inside Tami. I felt like I was violating this kind, modest, needlessly suffering woman, whom fate had decreed must be always naked, until I realized her insides as well as her outsides were a big playground for her many admirers. And that this was O.K. with her. It seemed strange but looking up into her distended anus and into that pink, irrigated rectum, I felt like she was welcoming me in.
"See that little hole up there?" I craned my neck to see, in the midst of all that pinkness, a little slit half an inch wide, like a closed eye. "That's her 'inner butthole'. Stick your finger in."
"Go ahead. Slide it in gently and wiggle it. It's like shaking her hand."
Part of me felt like laughing at this simile. But my finger found itself carefully pointing into the interior space, as my brain shouted for it to stay outside. Belinda guided my wrist. I poked up farther, farther, until I was inside her rectum. I felt the heat from her surrounding inner walls, as if welcoming me in from the cold. Meanwhile, from the speaker, Tami was making some kind of forceful point.
"I don't think -- we should do this unilaterally. We need the O.K. of the Faculty Senate. And -- "
My finger reached the slit and made contact! It was so moist, warm, welcoming. And now I pushed a little further and the end of my finger went up and forward into another empty space -- her colon! In at the second knuckle, I wiggled my finger.
"And the p - presentation should be made through the college intranet too ..."
I must have caused that little stutter. I felt both ashamed and, somehow, proud. I wondered: were all these women trying to please Tami? Or just disrupt her concentration? I let my finger rest there a moment, then carefully drew it out. When my whole hand was out I looked at my moistened finger with a sour expression on my face.
"Go ahead, lick it," the other woman said. "It's very good. Tastes like coconut."
I just couldn't do that. Tonya, who had been watching from behind, chuckled. Belinda offered an antiseptic tissue. "Here." I wiped my finger off, with relief but also feeling a bit like a spoilsport.
Now Belinda and her partner set upon Tami's stretched ring with their tongues, then moved out to lick her buttocks, which twitched and undulated ever so slightly. Above, Tami continued to talk about whatever proposal was being discussed, arguing for openness.
I stood back with Tonya. In the dim light she could see my fascinated face as I took in the view of Tami's brightly presented "vault", and the two licking females worshipping it. "That's ...so unreal."
"Very real to us," Tonya said. She drew me back, back, until ten feet back we entered a little alcove. On it was a stand with a book, a little spotlight on it in the midst of the darkness. Next to it was a short couch with two very young women, hardly more than high school age. One was dressed like a Goth, all in black with a nose ring. The other looked ready for soccer practice. They were chatting a mile a minute, as teenage girls do, about something having to do with boyfriends. And sipping sodas, evidently from a little dorm-style fridge next to them. On top of the fridge, a coffee brewer, a bag of chips. I gathered this place was like a lounge for women who were waiting their turn. Leaning against the fridge were three giant feather-type things, four feet long. I guessed they were for the long-range, gentle stimulation of Tami's legs, or her sides, or maybe her shoulders.
"Hi," I said shyly to the two girls. They nodded to me and then got back to their whispery gossip.
"We call this the 'pit'," Tonya said. I looked around. On the black-painted wall over the couch was a message board. I made out two messages in erasable markers: 'Georgene: See me tonite. Eth.' And: 'Wendy bites. Why not? She's a vampire.' Whatever that meant. Next to the message board, a beefcake poster of a guy with 6-pack abs, hands looped into the belt of his jeans. Someone had drawn a ring on his nipple.
"I can't believe this -- this 'underworld'," I whispered to Tonya, though I don't think the two jabbering girls would have been listening. "And these women -- these -- "
"We call ourselves TL's," Tonya said. "I'm not sure why."
"How many -- TL's -- are there?"
"In all about eighty." Seeing my widened eyes, she said, "Oh no, not at one time. Tami can fit only about nineteen of us in at once."
Nineteen! As I tried to assimilate this information Tonya looked somewhere and said, "Hi Melissa. . . Stephanie, it's my turn. Why don't you check out 'the book'. Melissa, show her around?"
"O.K.," Melissa said, massaging her lips as if they had just done a workout on part of Tami. Melissa was tall and blonde and looked like a model, maybe Tami's age. She got a water bottle out of the fridge and said, "Can you read in that light? We have some stronger bulbs in the cabinet."
"No ... that's O.K." I looked down at the big book on the stand. It was a loose-leaf, as if it was something that was continually updated. The title stood out in elegant scripted letters:
Extending and Intensifying the Orgasmic Response of Professor Smithers
by the TL Collective
I opened the front cover and saw a list of "contributors" that ran two pages. Then the table of contents:
Foreword by Jennifer McIntyre, M.D.
1. Basics of Female Orgasmic Response
2. Special Features of Prof. Smithers's Response
3. Accommodating Her Allergy
4. Tools and Equipment
5. Focus: Clitoris, G-Spot, Vagina and Cervix
6. Focus: Nipples
7. Focus: Feet and Hands
8. Focus: Anus, Rectum and Colon
9. The Professor's Upper Colon: Accessing Points of Sensitivity
10. Ears and Other Body Parts
11. Group Attack and Coordination
12. Full Body Machines and Apparatus
13. "Playing Tami's Body": Managing Her Orgasms
14. Status Orgasmus
15. Effect of Prof. Smithers's Orgasms on TL's
16. Possible Applications to Other Women (and to Men)
Afterword by Tami Smithers, Ph.D.
I leafed through the pages as if in a trance. My eyes were wide and my mouth hung open the whole time. It was like walking through a weird dream that might have been a nightmare. Most of the pages were text with drawings. There were also photos. One had Tami's face, looking at the camera, at several stages of orgasm. Her eyes bugged out at me as if staring right through me.
Another page demonstrated a long flexible dildo called a "snake". Tami was on all fours on a table. Her nakedness made a sharp contrast with the two fully clothed women behind her who were pressing the end of the "snake" against her anus. In the next picture the "snake" was all the way in except for the final six inches which was gripped by the two women. Tami's back was arched to accommodate the intrusion, her teeth clenched, her head thrown up, her eyes screaming wide open as if shouting a desperate prayer to God. It was amazing they got all that long, wide thing inside her. The head must be up near her big breasts, which were hanging like grapefruits, the huge nipples pointing down as if pushed out by the outward pressure of the snake. Of course it wasn't in that far (it probably curved with her colon) but the scene looked like sadomasochism, until you turned the page and saw Tami lying on her side on the table with a weary smile on her face, her two clothed companions nestling the snake between her breasts.
The next series of photos was even more jarring. Tami was strapped to a big scaffold, spread-eagled as two huge dildos on cams pistoned into her from below, invading her front and rear. A rear view showed how thick the rear dildo was, practically splitting her trim butt in two. Tubes like the one I saw in her office came down and suctioned her nipples. Next to her was what could only be called a scoreboard, recording orgasms, contractions, and time elapsed.
What made the scene even stranger were the people around her. In the first photo, after two hours and 86 orgasms, men and women were all around, formally dressed as if at a cocktail party, chatting and eating snacks. Tami's eyes were closed, her mouth open, her scalp and face and her whole hairless body shining with sweat under the harsh overhead light, her concave tummy quaking. A few people were watching her, with a couple of men behind, watching her rectum getting plowed, with as casual an attitude as if contemplating a painting in a museum. To the side was a table lined with water bottles.
In the next photo, after (according to the "scoreboard") three and a half hours and 177 orgasms, Tami was actually engaging in conversation with an older man, though her eyes seemed a little wild. A different group of people from the first photo watched her intently from every angle. From her position on the apparatus she had to look down to talk to people. Her crotch was at about everyone's eye level.
In the next photo her eyes were screaming at the camera! And maybe her mouth too, it was wide open. Her hands and wrists strained against their bonds, her thigh muscles were taut, her feet flexed, her toes spread. It was six hours in and she was apparently in the throes of her 287th orgasm! Yet around her were what looked like Chamber of Commerce types, talking to each other, only a couple looking up at her. Amusingly, a few people had their hands cupped to their ears, as if trying to hear what their friends were saying over this racket.
In the last photo she was surrounded by TL's, who were kissing her all over, a couple of them bending over to suck her toes. Some looked at the camera and had their thumbs up. Melissa was at the side pouring champagne. A cause for celebration, Tami having experienced her 400th orgasm in the space of 8 hours 17 minutes. Whether Tami was conscious of her achievement was hard to tell. Like in the first photo, her head was tilted upward, her eyes closed, her mouth open, the sweat having dried on her body, which looked a bit thinner than it did in the first photo. The water bottles to the side were almost all used up.
I had to catch my breath. Looking at these photos was exhausting. 400 orgasms! Then again, eight hours is a long time. . . I felt Melissa standing behind me, her long blond hair touching the shoulder of my jacket. When I could finally speak I said, "This is amazing."
"This is our book of wisdom," she said gently. "We're always learning new things."
"Too bad you can't put it online," I said, looking through the last chapter. "A lot of people could learn from this."
"I'll never forget my first session with Tami," she said with a reverent tone. "We were both undergrads. I did her on a table near the college library. I brought her up eighteen times. Each time I felt I was up in the clouds with her, looking down at the world. I know this sounds goofy, but it's a spiritual experience. I learned how to give. That's so important. Learning how to give."
I couldn't help but agree, the world being the way it is. I closed the book carefully.
"Come, you're not halfway through," Melissa said, taking me by the hand. I went with her down another little hallway, leaving the two girls on the couch, jabbering about boys the way only girls can.
I followed Melissa's hand around another black, invisible corner. Her hand was warm and soft, the grip firm. I wondered about the TL's. Were they all gay? Of course not, judging from the girls on the couch. How did boyfriends feel about this? It seemed like a male fantasy, what they were all doing to Tami. Yet apparently no men were allowed. Even Rod felt "uncomfortable" down here, this underworld devoted to simultaneously stimulating every bit of Tami's body, inside and out, in every conceivable fashion.
We were almost bumping into Tami's other foot when I finally saw it. There was no little lamp here. It was amazing how the layout of the walls, what must be like a maze or catacomb, blocked out sounds from the little cubbyholes devoted to other parts of her.
And it made it seem like a bigger place than it was. This bare foot had to be only five feet or so away from the other one, yet it was like journeying to the antipodes. Particularly when my eyes adjusted and I saw what was being done here, at what looked like a far outpost of the underworld. Tami's foot stuck out over a bowl of ice cubes. One of the TL's was running one cube around and between the toes. The other had a bristly spiky ball, kind of like a rubber porcupine, and was jabbing it gently over the instep. Then they switched places.
Tami's voice, participating in the meeting above, came through the nearest little speaker: "I know this must be done quickly but -- but we have to cover all bases. I see it taking two weeks if we're lucky and no - no opposition."
"This is Betty and Jalisa," Melissa said. I could barely make out their faces, especially Jalisa's which was so dark. After they nodded to me and continued their cold, spiky torture of Tami's toes and foot for a few moments, I whispered to Melissa. "This looks cruel," I said playfully. "Compared with Tami's other foot."
"Who's over there?" Betty said, kissing and sucking a toe before she rubbed an ice cube around it. She had overheard me.
"I'm not sure," Melissa said. "I don't go there much." As if it were a faraway country.
"Hermine and Gladys," I said.
"Whatever they're doing, I bet it's fattening," Jalisa said. As if talking about third cousins whom she doesn't see often. She got up off her chair and sat down in a different posture. I saw that she was tall and athletic. I thought of the other foot, coated in peanut butter. While this one was being chilled and scraped. It seemed unfair. Though I then smelled coffee and realized that the toes were being sucked by hot mouths. The toes writhed and wiggled with the stimulations, as if expressing their surprise and joy. Very expressive toes.
Melissa and I left this dark, cold outpost, then shortly came to a standing girl who was braced, one foot in front of the other, as she waved one of those long feathers I had seen next to the couch, with a slow, laborious motion. She was in a kind of jumpsuit, suited to athletic exertions. I tried to see where she was floating the feather, but it was too dark. "I'm caressing the midriff and belly button," she explained. "Want to try?"
I tried. This long thing was heavy. She showed me how to grip it with a minimum of strain. One hand holding it up eighteen inches or so from the end, as a fulcrum, the other at the end controlling the stroke, while I braced one foot well in front of the other. She looked at my hands approvingly, like a teacher watching a good student. I felt proud. And after a few strokes I could feel, subtly, the gentle vibrations and resistance through the feather. Though I couldn't see her, I could feel the delicate fronds either touching Tami or missing her. I knew that I was gently teasing the side of that tiny waist, the concave tummy, hopefully sending chills through her body. A tantalizing, teasingly gentle stimulation in contrast with all the more direct and intense things that were being done to her. Every activity here carried its own satisfactions.
Tami's voice continued through the local speaker. "Without their approval it -- w - would be impossible."
As I wafted the feather up and down I felt a chill going through my own self, as if I were on the receiving end of it. Maybe this was something of what Melissa was talking about: the excitement of exciting Tami. Reluctantly I gave the feather back to the girl. Melissa led me outward and up a couple of steps.
Tami's hand stuck out from the darkness. Two women were touching it lightly with their hands and tongues, down the wrist and forearm. I remembered the chapter in the loose leaf on "Feet and Hands" where there was a drawing on "nerve patterns". Apparently there was a pattern to their caressing that stimlulated something up and down the arm.
Suddenly something struck me. "How is Tami -- supported? It looks like she's in mid air."
"There are loops of soft plastic going around her thighs and her upper arms," Melissa said quietly. "You can't see them from here."
I shook my head. "Amazing. This -- underworld. How did it develop?"
"Bit by bit. We're proud of it. It's been a progressive, collective project. Everything has been trial and error. Tami's very sensual, and amazingly responsive. You can bring her to orgasm a hundred different ways. But some things work better than others. Extending and intensifying her response, that's what it's been all about."
"But she's not reaching orgasm. She's up there -- I mean her head's up there -- taking part in an important meeting."
"She's holding back. That's for the convenience of the faculty, and President Ellender. It's the only way she can be at these meetings at close to room temperature. She hates participating from inside that freezer booth. Also for some of those folks, they can't concentrate when they see her shivering."
I supposed the students in Tami's classes were used to that, but not everyone. I was still with these thoughts when Melissa led me toward Tami's front, where her breasts were being attended to by my old friend Tonya, and another girl whose face I could not see because she was busy sucking vigorously on the other nipple.
"Hi," Tonya said, catching her breath as she disengaged her teeth from having pulled on the nipple she was stationed at. With both hands she was grabbing the big breast like a grapefruit, making it stick out even more than when at rest, and making the waist, below in the shadows, look even more tiny by contrast. "This is Mei Lin."
The other girl, still with her face occupied, gave me a little backward wave. Then she went back to grabbing "her" breast, which looked all the bigger because her hands were so small.
Tonya and Mei Lin were standing in tall, dark wood boxes that were barely big enough for them to fit in and which came up to their waists. It was explained that this way they would not interfere with those stationed below.
These two girls were ravenous, rough, rasping. They were biting and sucking, pulling poor Tami's nipples until they stretched grotesquely out from her breasts, then letting go, causing the breasts to bounce, then attacking again.
"You guys are rough!" I whispered. "Poor Tami must be going crazy!"
Tami's voice: "I can do the press release. Kathy can -- speak to Gayle at the -- development office... No, I don't -- think that would be necessary."
"I wouldn't say she's used to it," Melissa said, "but she can store up the sensations for when she breaks loose."
That must be some orgasm she's heading up to, I thought.
"Now," Melissa said portentously, taking my hand again, "let's go to Mission Control."
A little flight of steps -- maybe four steps, but these were tiny steps -- away and down, then down and in, and for once I was in a well-lit place, crowded with two women as well as Melissa and me. It was Tami's crotch, the famous cleanly shaved lower lips, the world's most exposed clit poking out above. The three women were seated in front of a long, narrow table crowded with recognizable sex toys -- dildos, vibrators -- and some I didn't recognize. The women were separated by the thin square columns that held the legs of Tonya and Mei Lin, but leaned forward and worked on Tami as a skilled team.
Tami's crotch was brightly lit with two spotlights mounted on snake supports, as if on stage. Well, it was always on display for the whole world to see, but now intensely so. At the moment one woman, a slightly overweight girl about Tami's age, was gently rubbing the lower part of Tami's inner lips, while the other, a tall, athletic looking Latina, was applying a long, stick-like vibrator to various points around the clit. The clit stood straight out, like a tiny penis, casting a little shadow in the harsh light. As the Latina girl gently jabbed, the clit danced in little jerks, and Tami's vagina, stimlulated by the rubbing of the first girl, quaked and palpitated, closing slightly and then opening again, like a goldfish's mouth.
To the sides, I saw Tami's thin but muscular thighs, and two of the supports Melissa spoke about. They were wide straps, black so as to be almost invisible, hung by equally black ropes that extended up to some unseen anchor point.
"This is Rosaria," Melissa said, referring to the Latina girl, "and this is Georgene."
"Welcome," Georgene said. Then she looked up at a digital clock on what was a freestanding little wall. I looked around and saw coffee cups, tea bags, cookies, and some textbooks. Behind us there were some folding chairs, and I saw two older women seated there, watching attentively, dressed up like they were attending church. They nodded to me politely. I looked up at the unseen ceiling, and guessed they were probably directly under the flat part of the table above, where lay sodas and papers and President Ellender's chocolate cake.
I had so many questions in my head but didn't know where to start. So I just watched. After rubbing Tami's lower lips with her fingers, Georgene produced a gigantic dildo. It was far too long to fit into any woman's pussy but Georgene didn't try. She skillfully rubbed the lips until the pussy was wide open, then she gently introduced the end of the dildo, rubbing against the pussy lips and slickly squeezing them open, then twisting gently until about four inches were in. Then she turned a switch and I heard humming.
Tami: "Th - this is a good idea. We should form a subcommittee to deal -- with that."
As Georgene pushed the dildo in a little deeper, then deeper yet, Rosaria pressed her long stick directly into Tami's clit, as if to crush it into her body. Tami's whole torso jerked, very slightly. Then Georgene reamed the pussy around and around with the dildo. Then she withdrew it. Rosaria withdrew the stick from the hard red clit. Then in concert they grabbed little feathers and gently tickled Tami's genitals. The clit bobbed, the gaping pussy palpitated. I thought I saw Tami's whole crotch area quiver. I've had that feeling, about to orgasm, my whole pelvis congested and heavy and seeking release. With Tami it was extreme. She had been brought right up to the point of orgasm and then left there, only to be taken up to the brink yet again. For how many times so far?
We watched Tami's open pussy quiver for a moment. "Let's give this careful thought," her voice said from above. Muffled laughter. Must have been a joke. Then Georgene stuck her entire hand into the pussy, crunching the fingers together so that it slid in through the wet lips. To my amazement her hand went all the way in to the wrist.
Georgene said, "Ha! Belinda's using the knuckle technique again." As we watched, Georgene worked her hand, deep within Tami. All we could see was the working of the muscles in her arm as she and Belinda, on the other side of Tami and the other side of their world, communicated in their strange language, using Tami's inner membrane and Tami's body as their medium. Both getting a charge out of it, as if achieving some new kind of international understanding.
I remembered reading how delicate the membrane was between rectum and vagina. "Isn't that dangerous?" I asked Melissa.
"No," she whispered back. "Like a lot of Tami, it's gotten toughened with the world using it, while being no less sensitive. Maybe even more so. Like the soles of her feet."
Georgene, her head tilted just so, eyes looking up absently, giggled, as if Belinda had cracked a joke across Tami's innermost membrane. Like silent lovers tapping out messages in code.
At length Georgene withdrew her hand. Then a strange sight: she and her companion started licking Tami's juices off her fingers. She looked up at me as if to say, "Want some?" I declined.
I almost fell back on Melissa and exhaled, as if overwhelmed. "C'mon," she said, "let's go."
Another little curved set of steps. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hermine and Gladys at their little lighted stand, continuing their peanut butter and jelly feast on Tami's toes.
"One more thing," Melissa said. We were at the foot of that initial little narrow flight of steps. She reached up and drew back a little curtain.
"Holy . . ." I'm sure my mouth was open and Melissa was amused at my reaction. It was a vantage point, behind Tami's neck, from where one could look down and see Tami's whole body from the rear, bathed in ghostly dim light. The glorious, lightly muscled, perfectly proportioned nakedness, stretched out in an "X", stimulated at every possible place (hands, feet, legs, thighs, nipples, torso, pussy, clit, rectum, anus) and in every possible way (tongues, teeth, lips, dildos, vibrators, peanut butter, jelly, ice cubes, rasps, pins) -- all at the same time --the little lights from the various stations here and there, like little cities along the moonlit hills and plains of the country of Tami -- while up above, Tami's brain and face and mouth were somehow thinking and talking and fully engaged in the boring steering committee meeting!
Melissa drew back the curtain. Now we ascended the glowing narrow steps, and went up through the door and into the bright hallway, where Rod stood as before, his one arm holding up his cup as he sipped.
Actually the hallway was probably not that bright, but it took a while for me to get used to the light. I had just one word as I blinked at him and Melissa.
Then, I giggled, knowing they would laugh too. "After all that, I'm hungry."
Rod cheerfully took me back to the living room, with the black round table, and the wonderful chocolate cake made by President Ellender. The college president smiled at me as I tried not to make too much a show of wolfing it down, and washing it down with iced tea. I pictured spreading the rich frosting on Tami's nipple and licking it off, biting and sucking in the process.
The disembodied bald head of Tami Smithers continued to preside over the meeting. "That's -- the plan then?" I again noticed the red blotchiness of her face and scalp. Perhaps a reaction to normal room temperature, being used to subfreezing blasts in her movable ice box. Or maybe a reaction to the intense stimulation below and the strain of repressing the slightest grunt.
"Yes," President Ellender said. Another woman was typing the minutes on her little laptop. I took another bite of cake.
Tami's head looked around the table. "M - meeting finished then?" I couldn't help thinking of what she was experiencing below, on every part of her body. . .
"Thanks, Tami," the man in the suit said. After some glances everyone got up.
Tami's eyes closed as if praying. She took a couple of deep, ragged breaths. Then she opened them. "Y - you're welcome to stay." She looked as two new people entered the room, the young girls who had been chatting on the couch down in the "underworld". She smiled at them. Then another woman came in, with a big plate of chips and salsa, and another with wine and cheese.
"No, thank you, see you tomorrow," the President of the Institute said. The others followed her.
The lady with the chips said, "Let's put on some tunes. Time to party!"
End of part 4.