Jean The Birth Of Venus Ch 12

Part 12: Nymphomaniacs Are Made Not Born

This story took place in 1976

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Chapter 23

It was the end of my first day back at the Art Exhibition. I was still recovering from Ellen's vicious attack with the electric cattle prod, but what had completely drained me was the new monstrous black dildo that had thrust vigorously into my vagina and anus all day. I was so exhausted and overstimulated from a dozen mind-numbing orgasms that I couldn't relax. Sonya and I talked for an hour before I finally fell asleep in her arms. I asked about her recovery from Ellen's insane attack. My cellmate said she had escaped with minor injuries consisting mainly of puncture wounds on her breasts and ass. She hugged me in gratitude for protecting her. She told me everything was better now that a friendly policewoman, Vicky, had been put in charge of the women prisoners.

Sonya had become the de facto leader of the community servicewoman. When she complained about lack of exercise, Vicky had arranged to let the girls who were interested jog from the jail up the steep hill to the Exhibition Hall every morning. The route went through downtown Santa Teresa to the delight of the early risers getting breakfast at the diner on Main Street. A jail bus followed along to carry anyone too lazy to run and also to pick up stragglers.

I rode the bus for a few days while I continued to heal. Finally, I felt good enough to join the joggers. God, it felt heavenly to be running up a steep hill cooled by the early morning ocean breeze. It didn't take long before our group of lovely young women drew attention. As representatives of the event, we were dressed to attract attention. Our outfits consisted of skimpy skin-tight running shorts and a sports bra. In college, we called the low-rise shorts spanky pants. Mine barely covered the top of my butt crack and tended to ride up exposing the bottoms of my ass cheeks.

My tight spanky pants also rubbed across my clit that was permanently exposed thanks to the gold band encircling my sensitive nub. Every stride up the hill stimulated me more. By the time the Exhibition Hall was in sight, my shorts were soaked, and I was having a pleasant early morning orgasm. It served as a pleasant warm-up for the stimulating day ahead.

Spanky pants were the closest thing to underwear I had worn since the beginning of the Exhibition. I wondered how I was going to manage the rest of my life with my clit constantly rubbing on my panties. I hoped the engineer could find a way to remove the band after I fulfilled my community service obligations. Otherwise, I faced the prospect of wearing loose skirts and going commando forever.

Our run through town carried us past the dormitories for the University of California at Santa Teresa. One morning a bus was loading up a group of burly young men. They were the university football team who had just arrived for summer training camp. Their practice field was just up the hill from the Exhibition Hall. We heard whistles and catcalls from the team. The coach knew who we were and quickly decided to take advantage of the situation to motivate his sleepy boys. He ordered the team to get off the bus and escort us.

It became a daily occurrence to have the football players running along with us. We were happy to chat with the horny college boys, but we knew nothing could happen since Vicky and the other guards kept us under close watch. I tended to pair off with William, who was a big black running back with a gift for lighthearted gab.

The companionship on our morning runs helped my mood immensely. Those beautiful mornings I actually believed I might meet my community service requirement before the end of the Exhibition. Without Ellen's constant torment, life was pleasant. My morning jog under the morning sun was followed by a healthy breakfast before our extended day of sexual stimulation and exhibitionism. I became so used to regular orgasms that I often found myself masturbating in the morning before Vicky roused us for the day. I can't count how many mornings I woke up with Sonya in my cot. She loved to lick my slit while working three or four of her tiny fingers into my wet pussy. Of course, on those mornings, my head was often buried between her warm thighs. I have always enjoyed sex, but I wondered if I was becoming a sex addict, thanks to riding a dildo twelve hours a day. At what point are you diagnosed as a nymphomaniac?

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Chapter 24

My life was completely structured except for the night time hours I spent in jail, and I felt completely safe. My days were filled with one session after another with me posing as Venus rising from the sea. Even though I was essentially naked and riding a dildo from one orgasm to another in front of a screaming mob, I was protected by my team and a heavy plate glass window.

The dildo was connected to a controller with a timer that was operated by tokens fed into it by the audience. The Exhibition's Engineer had designed the black box to gradually increase the level of stimulation until I orgasmed close to the end of each session. Sensors in the big black dildo detected contractions in my vagina and flashed a light to let the crowd know when I was having an orgasm. The crowd always let out a cheer when the light quickly flashed ten to twenty times in a row. The Engineer had basically turned me into a sexy electronic arcade game.

I knew the quiet Engineer was a genius, and I trusted his technical skills completely. The big black dildo that was powerfully thrusting into my vagina and ass was enhanced by electrical shocks jumping from my G-spot to a gold band clamped around my clit. The whole mechanism was controlled by a black box the Engineer had whipped together and carefully calibrated to my responses in less than a week. What could go wrong?

My support team had been working hard for months and were showing their stress. One day Maggie and the rest of my team decided to go down to the pier to relax and pick up takeout for lunch. They left an inexperienced intern to watch over me with instructions to call the restaurant if there were any problems. Since the pier was only ten minutes away, and they had called in their orders, Maggie figured they had plenty of time to return before the end of my session.

What she didn't count on was an accident blocking the single access road winding up the steep hill to the Exhibition Hall. By the time Maggie and my team encountered the accident, they were partway up the hill but still two miles from the Exhibition. Traffic backed up behind them, and the sound of sirens prevented Maggie from making a U-turn. Unfortunately, some moron did make a U-turn and collided with an ambulance speeding up the hill. There were no houses along the road so Maggie couldn't call the intern to have her either reset the controller or remove me from the exhibit for my break. Maggie was out of shape but managed to trudge up the hill and arrived over an hour and a half after the scheduled end of my shift. The intern was unaware of any problems and didn't think to ask for help from another support team.

I had been pleasantly surprised at the start of my session when the curtains opened to reveal my friendly black running back standing by the controller with a hand full of tokens. William grinned as he inserted the first token, and the vibrator began to hum in my pussy.

I realized there was something different when I had my second orgasm in one session. Maggie always made sure to reset the controller after each of my sessions. She would double-check it again at the start of my next session. The inexperienced intern didn't know anything about the operation of the stimulation controller. She didn't know the engineer had designed it to start out on the lowest setting and gradually increase until it was reset. She wasn't paying attention to the time and didn't realize I was running well past the end of my session. She had no idea anything out of the ordinary was happening.

The device was calibrated to bring me to a pleasant orgasm close to the end of each session. Without a controller reset, the intensity of the stimulation just continued to increase. My first orgasm was mild and occurred as expected at about the fortieth minute of what was supposed to be a fifty-minute session.

My second orgasm was a little more intense and hit me at about the sixty-minute mark. When the light began flashing to indicate my second orgasm, I was already ten minutes past the normal time for my ten-minute break. By now, the dildo in my soaking wet vagina was thrusting vigorously, and the jolts of electricity between my G-spot and my clit were making my body jerk. My thighs were wet from my gushing pussy. A large crowd had gathered in front of my exhibit since several of the other girls were on break. William and his friends were excited by my reaction to the tokens he kept pouring into the controller. They began shouting out a count of the number of orgasms I had.

My third orgasm hit six minutes after the second, and I heard them yell, "Three!" The crowd roared like a pack of lions who have just made a kill. I realized something was wrong, and frantically looked around for Maggie or anyone from my support team.

I strained to rise on my tiptoes in a futile effort to dismount. The safety bindings on my ankles prevented me from rising high enough to even escape the shorter dildo in my ass. My fourth orgasm came three or four minutes after the previous one. It was so intense I closed my eyes and screamed as my body kept shuddering for what seemed an eternity. I barely had a couple of minutes to recover before I orgasmed again.

I heard a shout of "Five" as a plume of molten pleasure erupted in my pussy and flowed to my brain.

After about an hour and a half, the controller reached its maximum setting. By that point, I was orgasming almost continuously. The light was flashing with each contraction with barely enough pause between orgasms for the crowd to keep count. I had trouble breathing and had maybe twenty seconds to gasp for breath before the next orgasm arrived. My body was tiring. I found out later the session lasted almost two and a half hours. The football players counted out 93 orgasms. William informed me later that I had beaten the record set by a woman participating in Masters and Johnson's research back in the early 60s.

I barely whimpered when Maggie turned off the controller. Someone drew the curtains closed to the boos of the mob watching while a couple of Exhibition volunteers lifted me off the dripping wet dildo. Maggie held my quivering body as I continued to orgasm.

She told me later that I had a smile on my face as I whispered, "Please don't stop. Please, oh God, please, I need more."

Maggie managed to give me some water before I fell into a deep sleep. I was comatose for nearly sixteen hours. My sleep was plagued by intense dreams that went on for hours.

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Author's Comments:

Masters and Johnson in their pioneering work 'Human Sexual Response' reported on a woman who had over forty orgasms in one session before falling asleep. Their research utilized instruments to monitor the test subjects, including a dildo with a camera inside.

In the first draft of this fictional account, I reported that Jean had 59 orgasms during her accidentally extended session. However, I did some additional research on multiple orgasms in females and found more recent reports of much higher numbers. Back in 1976, the well documented Masters and Johnson's result was the world record.

A website claims that a woman at the Center for Marital and Sexual Studies in California had 134 orgasms in one hour. This amounts to an orgasm every 27 seconds, which doesn't leave a lot of recovery time but seems possible. Separately, the website reports the longest female orgasm lasted 45 seconds with 25 individual contractions. Sorry guys, the record for men was 16 orgasms in an hour - oh my aching balls. Unfortunately, a search for more information on the Center's research methods produces hits for institutions with that name located in Florida and New York but not in California. I am left with the question of how they detected and recorded the orgasms. Are they counting individual contractions as orgasms?

Even weirder is a report from the 2009 Danish Masturbate-a-Thon. (Evidently, Masturbate-a-Thon events have been held around the world since 1995 to raise money for charity.) The winning female at the Danish event had 222 orgasms in one session. There is no mention of how long the session lasted or how they counted orgasms. It's not like a hot dog eating contest where it's easy to count how many were consumed. The winning male masturbated for 9 hours and thirty-three minutes - oh my aching dick.