A College Professors Discovery Ch 03

The driver who had met Sherrie on her first and second arrivals at the Christchurch airport was grinning at her as he waited at baggage claim while she made her way through a throng of people, all who seemed intent on being the first to retrieve their luggage.

"Dr. Mathison! So good to see you again!" said the dark-skinned man known only as "Catchy" to Sherrie and who greeted her enthusiastically after her long flight to New Zealand. When she asked the genial man his name on her first research trip, his reply — "Just call me 'Catchy' — was of initial interest as Sherrie wondered if the game he described was also played by the tribe she had come to study. This did not turn out to be the case, and Sherrie tolerated with a smile Catchy's re-tellings of his abilities in the art of catching objects catapulted across great distances.

The university in Auckland which received part of the research funding made the arrangements for Catchy to be her guide and transportation, and Sherrie was happy to depend on them to handle everything that ensured Catchy's assistance on each of her trips.

Catchy had developed an ease of association with Sherrie that she appreciated: not too talkative, always helpful, and always in good spirits. After dropping her off at the edge of the tribe's hunting and fishing boundary, he was always a dependable lifeline back to civilization during her time in some of the most inaccessible reaches of the beautiful island nation.

Catchy retrieved the two suitcases she'd checked, and she trundled behind him with her carry-on bags. It was only a short distance before reaching his serviceable, though well-worn, vehicle.

"You back for another two months, Miss Sherrie?" Catchy asked as they drove away from the airport on the long trip to the hotel where they would stay the night. The next morning they would head out early on the seven-hour drive into increasingly rugged terrain before reaching the remote location where Sherrie would finally be able to finish her research about the tribe.

"Only a month or so this time, Catchy," Sherrie replied, reacquainting herself with the deep blue of the New Zealand sky. "I'm only here long enough to gather information on a couple more things I need to finish my book about the tribe and their customs."

Finishing her research would include participating in the ceremony that had shocked and aroused Dr. Sherrie Mathison when she first witnessed the fascinating tribal ritual. The tribe's women, naked save for the phalluses strapped to their crotches, fondled the reverently presented male genitalia offered up by eager male tribesmen who knew the women would take their pleasure with those hard cocks as a way to ensure good hunting and good fertility.

Cock-fondling, though, was only the prelude. The climax of the ceremony, literally and figuratively, came when the women achieved orgasm as they screwed their lithe, muscular men in the ass, drilling the phallus strapped securely to their crotches repeatedly in and out of the proffered assholes exposed completely when the men reached behind themselves as they laid across the ceremonial altar and spread their cheeks wide. The exposure was a blatant invitation to the women, a request for penetration, a plea to be fucked with abandon until the females, breasts bouncing in time with their thrusts, reached shuddering and breathless release.

Everyone in the tribe had been happy to tell Sherrie that good hunting, fishing, and female fertility were always ensured by the ceremony.

If a lean year ever did come, she wondered, would that put an end to the ceremony that so fascinated and aroused her?

If the erect nipples of the women and the erect cocks of the men were any indication, to say nothing of the clearly evident orgasms both parties always experienced as a result of their reverent yet exuberant ceremony, Sherrie suspected the man-fucking would continue whether times were lean or abundant.

The virginal tribal girls who tipped the urn of lubricant at the top of the men's splayed-open furrows would watch intently as the strapon-wielding women lined up their fake cocks and then pressed insistently inside while the men squirmed and moaned underneath them.

Those demonstrations for the benefit of adolescent girls would have to continue, the anthropologist in Sherrie realized. The cultural and religious significance of the ceremony would demand it — again, in good years or in bad.

Oh, god — that first time! thought Sherrie whenever she remembered her initial viewing of the ceremony.

It had shocked her, aroused her intensely, and caused her pussy to lubricate immediately when she watched what the tribe's women did as they took obvious and intense pleasure in fucking the naked men before them. And it was clear the men were aroused just as intensely.

Their stiff cocks, bobbing between their legs as they pushed back onto the fake cocks sliding into their backsides, were clear testimony to the sexual pleasure they were taking as the receivers of their women's vigorous thrusts. The men's unbridled moans and throaty groans of pleasure were incredibly sexy sounds to Sherrie's Western-society ears, and remembering those male sounds of sexual urgency never failed to harden her nipples and moisten her pussy. When she added the memory of the women's promptings as they urged their partners toward climax, Sherrie was inevitably and almost completely distracted from anything other than a building desire to masturbate to climax, imagining herself strapped into a dildo and pushing it deep inside a naked man's upthrust and willingly displayed asshole.

There had been one or two very nearly embarrassing situations at boring college meetings after her return trip from New Zealand and back to the university to teach classes for a semester before finishing her research with the tribe on this trip. As the Chair of her department droned away about something infinitely less engaging than the sounds and pictures replaying themselves in Sherrie's mind, her daydreaming about the tribal ceremony had sometimes caused her trouble:

"Dr. Mathison? Did you hear the question?"

"Oh . . . sorry, Dr. Jones. I apologize that I was thinking about how to handle a student situation in my 207 section. Would you repeat your question, and I'll get my thoughts redirected to where they should be right now."

Sherrie offered an apologetic smile, tipped her head in submissive acknowledgment and glanced down in a well-practiced move that could buy her a better shot at forgiveness in the male-dominated world of departmental politics. And she really did try to refocus.

Is the man still looking at me? she thought, though, worried that maybe the bra and blouse she was wearing weren't sufficient to hide the taut nipples that were stubbornly perked up as a result of her daydream.

She had been thinking about what it would feel like when she grabbed the hips of one of the tribe's men and buried her strapon cock deep inside his asshole.

Sherrie somehow managed to last through that interminable semester, all the while fretting about how to become good enough at fucking a man with a strapon so that her final visit to the tribe would earn her entry into the women's confidence.

Why did seeing that have such an effect on me? she wondered. What deeply buried female desire did these highly spiritual yet joyfully spontaneous indigenous people tap into when I saw it for the first time?

Sherrie had thought long and hard about this mystery, wondering if the erotic act had always been considered natural among the tribe.

It truly seemed — from anthropological and sociological standpoints — a significant ritual in the life of the tribe. Elevating the act to ceremonial status must be some indication that both the women and the men considered it important that women take their pleasure in this manner.

Do they know something about female sexuality that we jaded and "civilized" women have forgotten? Sherrie often wondered.

Do the women do this only during the ceremony, or do they use their strapons as a regular part of sexual intercourse? Sherrie had mused on many occasions. Getting the answer was important to completing her research for the book. Indeed, that answer would be a key revelation about tribal society.

And it would be on this trip that she would learn the answer if her practice sessions had resulted in Sherrie now being good enough at using a fake cock strapped to her crotch to make a man come as she stroked the shaft repeatedly in and out of his asshole.

Until she participated in the ceremony and proved her man-fucking abilities, the tribe's women had remained strangely silent whenever Sherrie asked about the ritual or anything related to it. In spite of the months of living in the village, being accepted in so many other ways as someone much more than an outsider who came to learn about them, the women remained adamant that they never spoke of certain issues with the girls in the tribe until after their passage to adulthood had been signified with her initial act of man-fucking in the tribal ceremony.

Sherrie would not get any answers about the religious origins of the ceremony or about sex between husband and wife until after she went through the same initiation as the adolescent girls when they proved they were ready to take a husband. With no other outsider ever having witnessed the ritual — something the tribe's women emphasized repeatedly when they allowed her to watch — it was important to Sherrie on a personal level to perform well so as not to disappoint the women. She would not want them to regret that they took her into their confidence.

And Sherrie certainly did not want to disappoint the man she would be screwing!

The thought of giving him a powerful orgasm was just too delicious!

The anthropologist in her realized how much depended on learning the philosophy that undergirded the ceremony and the act of female-on-male penetration during sexual activity, but Sherrie needed to satisfy whatever primal urge had been awakened in her.

She needed to find out if the women were as turned on about fucking their men as she was about the thought of doing the same thing.

Her last visit was supposed to have included her own public performance. Scared witless about doing it — the women would never share anything with a grown woman they deemed an inexperienced and clumsy man-fucker — Sherrie had concocted the excuse that her own man-fucking phallus was left at home, and she would bring it on her next trip because the device was different from theirs.

Her quick thinking garnered at least some grudging indulgence from the women. They wanted to see this "different" kind of man-fucking tool for themselves, so they granted Sherrie dispensation, saying they would look forward to her return, her performance, and then sharing with her the tribal thinking about the ceremony.

But only IF Sherrie was deemed competent in screwing a naked, eager, opened man in his willingly presented, completely exposed asshole.

And she would have to do this in a way that brought both her male and herself to deeply satisfying, intense orgasms.

Shit! How on earth did I get myself into this? thought Sherrie as she returned to the States.

And that was why Dr. Sherrie Mathison, respected professor of anthropology at a prestigious American university, had engaged the services of "Miss Victoria," a "sensuous domme" who agreed to provide three tutoring sessions in how to fuck a man in the asshole with a strapon cock.

* * *

Only a few nights from tonight, thought Sherrie as she slid between the sheets of the hotel bed, I will be naked in front of the tribe's women, my feeldoe dildo snugged inside my pussy and strapped securely in place.

The thought sent a shiver through her as she adjusted the cover.

The next thought was inevitable: The naked tribal male, strong, lithe, a glorious ass muscled by the activities of hunting and building, bent over before her, lying across the ceremonial altar, his hands gripping the cheeks of his ass and spreading them open to her gaze as his balls hung heavy and his stiff cock bobbed beneath him.

Incredibly arousing!

Delectable!

So very, very inviting!

The thought always moistened Sherrie's pussy.

Then, the next thought: The lubricant poured at the top of his ass crack, slowly rolling down to his puckered opening, glistening in the light and inviting her finger to slide into the center of his asshole.

She would do just that, feeling him open for her, sliding in deep and then back out to gather more of the lube and push in again, this time rotating her finger to spread the slippery substance around the inside of his snug rectum, preparing him.

She would add a second finger and repeat the procedure, hearing his moans, seeing the goose bumps rise on the backs of his thighs.

Sherrie had watched numerous times as the women displayed their talents in all aspects of the preparation, the taking, the coming, including the always sensuous, always careful and thorough preparation of the male's surrendered opening.

Her pussy always got very, very wet seeing the men squirm, moan, and shudder in pleasure as the women's fingers prepared them for the longer, thicker, and more deeply filling penetrations that were to come.

Damn! Why had I never even thought of this? she scolded herself on more than one occasion. It was simply too delicious, too easy to prompt an intense sexual release, NOT to have enjoyed this fantasy before.

But then her anthropologist self would always provide the obvious answer: it just wasn't a cultural norm in Western society. Neither Sherrie nor any young girl in America that Sherrie knew about grew up with shared wisdom from mothers or older sisters or aunts about sex with a man naturally including the occasional strapon fuck that brought both partners to deeply satisfying orgasms.

And god knows that boys in America didn't grow up with masturbatory fantasies of surrendering their assholes to sexy women who would fuck them silly until their hard cocks shot gobs of cum. Even Sherrie's limited history of sexual encounters with men would have tipped her off if this had been the case.

But then, just as naturally as the rational, academic, scientific anthropologist in her served up its here's-the-reason explanation, the too-often buried, still-blossoming, naturally sexy woman in her pushed aside her research self in order to return to the pleasures of mentally watching — of imagining her own participation in — the erotic delights of strapon man-fucking.

Restless in the hotel bed, Sherrie knew what would happen before she drifted to sleep.

She would masturbate as she remembered what she had done to prepare for this all-important final visit to the tribe about which she was writing her book.

That dizzying, insanely erotic stretch of days when she received a crash course in how to fuck a man with a strapon cock was less than a month in the past, but Sherrie still had to reassure herself that it had really happened. She still had a difficult time believing that she had arranged to learn from an expert who would provide her with multiple men to practice on and who would coach her through a journey from rank novice to sufficient proficiency to satisfy the most important panel of judges she would ever face.

The ultimate success of her research and her book depended on finding out the tribe's beliefs about the ritual and their practices between husband and wife. If Sherrie was judged a clumsy man-fucker who, at her age in life was inexperienced with men, then the women in the tribe would dismiss her as unworthy of full-blown womanhood.

She would never complete the most important research for her book — the part that would allow her to convey the cultural beliefs and identity that made this tribe unique.

But her spot in academic lore would be guaranteed if she performed well in that ceremony. The tribal women would take her into their confidence and share what would become the blockbuster revelations in her research.

Fail as a man-fucker, and Sherrie would still have to produce a book, but it would be a little-read treatise that advanced her academic career only modestly.

Sherrie was determined not to fail at the act which would make the difference between a highly praised academic publication and an also-ran. In spite of her relative inexperience with men, in spite of the fact that she had never — EVER — even imagined such a thing as plunging a strapon cock into a man's lubricated asshole before witnessing the tribal ceremony, in spite of everything that WAS Dr. Sherrie Mathison, she found a way to practice the fine art of strapon man-fucking before returning to the tribe.

And so, over the course of only a few days, Miss Victoria had brought 'round three insanely sexy men, each of whom had stripped naked in Sherrie's townhome and enjoyed — LOVED! — everything that she and Miss Victoria did to them, all the while ensuring beyond doubt that none of the "practice squad" ever learned anything about Sherrie.

It was critically important that these men NEVER have any idea who Sherrie was, where she lived, or why she had engaged the services of the woman who was bringing them to some unknown location where they would be told to strip, to assume whatever position the inventive tutor Miss Victoria would tell them to assume, and then to obediently spread themselves open in preparation for another woman to lubricate their assholes as a prelude to fucking them in the ass with her strapon phallus while she played with their cocks, their heavy balls, their tight butts . . . well, Miss Victoria was most thorough in her coaching!

And that was the thought that just pushed Sherrie over the edge. Her tummy fluttered each time she replayed opening the door of her townhome to reveal Miss Victoria and whichever of the men Sherrie had chosen for the fantasy she was about to surrender to.

If the fantasy man was Andrew — her first man-fuck — remembering the intoxicating cocktail of her extreme nervousness mixed with the incredible realization that, yes, she was going to see the man completely naked save for his blindfold in only a few minutes, inevitably caused her clit to engorge.

Ah, yes. Andrew. God! He looked so-o-o-o-o very good naked. His cock was beautiful, and the sight of that pretty pink shaft rising to full hardness and pointing to the ceiling as Miss Victoria kissed him . . . well, that was something Sherrie knew she would never be able to erase from the visual archives of her memory.

And why on Earth would she ever want to?

If the fantasy was Trent, the swimmer and the second of Sherrie's "practice men," the thought of what Miss Victoria had orchestrated with him during the session would always produce intense orgasms. Good lord! Miss Victoria video recorded Sherrie stroking her strapon into him after that sexy man had told them in explicit and glorious detail precisely why he was so intensely aroused by the thought, and the act, of a woman fucking him in the ass and why he loved the fact that the woman was turned on by doing it to him.

Sherrie adored that video. It was on her laptop in a password-protected folder named, "Statistical analysis - Solter project," and in the days following the encounter with Trent she had opened that folder — what? — three times? Four times? Twenty?

Only once did she access that insanely arousing video with her laptop's high-definition output cabled to the big-screen TV in the living room of her townhome. Hearing Trent's groans through the sound system, seeing the shaft of her strapon sliding into his eager asshole, watching her naked breasts bounce as she fucked him while he squirmed and moaned beneath her — all on a big screen, in high-definition, and in full-color as it had occurred right there in her living room! — was so intensely erotic that it almost frightened her.