Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ï>¿The Cunning Stunt Award by MFFM

   Her second coming.

   In less than an hour she'll be making love to herself.  In front of
strangers and certain people she knows, some intimately.  She will
masturbate in public.  She's thrilled.  She's scared.  Humiliation competes
with the erotic excitement.  The warm wet slickness already trickling down
between her legs as she walks from the parking lot.  Arousal is overcoming
the fear.  Her breath comes faster and she can sense her heart rate
increasing as she realises how vulnerable she'll be, with the eroticism of
what she'll be doing very soon.  She needs to cum immediately but must hold
off until they're ready for her.  She's excited.  Soon she will be naked.
She's happy with how her cunt looks, and is even happier to be allowed to
show it today.  Afraid she'll lose control and cum right now, she tries
taking shorter steps to keep her lips from sliding against each other so
deliciously.

   She's nervous and on the verge of an orgasm.  She has to pee.  She feels
great.  Her stomach is doing flips.  She looks like an ordinary
professional woman, blouse, business-length skirt, hair neatly up, limited
but tasteful makeup.  She's afraid the people around her sense her state of
arousal, that she's right on the delicious edge.  She's shaking.  She's
calm.  She's confused.  She feels the juices running down between her legs
and wonders if they can see it.  Or smell it.  She's trembling with
arousal, just thinking of what's ahead.  Her legs are tingling.  She knows
her conservative attire is a big lie; a short skirt without underwear would
be more honest; that way they'd know how she feels inside and what she's
about to do.  If they only knew!  Maybe they do know.

   As she reaches the Physiology and Human Factors building, fear takes
over.  The sight of the familiar building takes her thoughts back twenty
years to when she'd been a graduate student here, to that day when she
volunteered to allow her professors and fellow students to observe and
record her orgasm for the pioneering research the department was doing. 
She replays in her head her feelings of that day: the the cool thin sheet
hiding her nakedness as they looked down from the desks around her.  How
she nearly orgasmed early as the probes were inserted: vaginal to monitor
her wetness, anal for body temperature.  Other sensors taped to her skin
and cameras focused on her face and shoulders.  Another under the sheet,
aimed up between her legs, to film how she manipulated herself.  She'd held
her breath the whole time the technicians were prepping her, holding off
the relief she was so desperate for.  That was then.

   Suddenly, as she sees the professor sent to meet her, her mind snaps
forward to the reality of the present day.  This is now.  Within a few
minutes she'll be humiliating herself again, under the eyes of this man. 
He was here back then, and he's still on the faculty now after twenty
years. He was the one who directed that masturbation, is the university
official who now invited her back, and today he would be observing her
again.  Did he tried to imagine what her cunt looked like under that sheet?
Today he'll be seeing it without the sheet.  That's right, she actually
requested no sheet, but the university still insists on a "modesty panel"
over her breasts.  She wonders if her cunt looks the same, after two kids.
The realization that this man watched her masturbate when she was young
sends an erotic pulse through her body.  Her mind floods with feelings of
both humiliation and joy.  She's ashamed of what she did back then; today
she can't wait to do it again.  Now she's a confident, liberated woman,
with her own permission to do as she chooses.  She can control her orgasms
so much better now.  The pleasure and the risk, the excitement and the
danger.  The humiliation in front of her colleagues.  The promise of
forbidden sexual pleasure.  The thrill of exhibiting herself.

   The occasion is a regional conference on human physiology.  Her
particular field of expertise is genital response to sexual stimulation, a
niche field made up of close-knit scientists who share their research at
conferences and special sessions like the one she will be the center of
today.  She attended graduate school with most of them, some right at this
same university, the ones who observed her masturbate years ago as a grad
student.  Over the years their careers crisscrossed, and she's been
romantically, or at least sexually, intimate with many of them.  Some are
here today.  The others are strangers now, but she will be collaborating
with all of them for the rest of her career, even the new ones she hasn't
yet met.  After today, they will always know her as the one who can openly
fuck herself with her finger, right before their eyes.

   Today she determines to give it her all.  In spite of the vulnerability
and shame, she'll give them a little more than she gave before.  Today
she'll show them what twenty years of experience has taught her about
masturbating!  Her 'performance', although she'd rather not call it that,
will give the data she needs for a paper she's co-authoring, and also, in
this risky setting, should give her a massive orgasm.  Right in front of
them.

   Her old professor hands her a robe, and goes on ahead to arrange the
classroom.  She's left standing there holding the robe, and it must be
obvious she's getting ready to go inside and take her clothes off.  She's
afraid and feels naked already.  She wishes she were naked already.  Again
her mind drifts back to that earlier day.  She's now practically in a dream
world, barely conscious of the students milling around on the way to their
next classes.

   Inside the building she sees them up close and realizes many are the
ages of her own son and daughter.  She heads toward where she remembered
the ladies' room to be, finds it and goes in to strip off.  She stands
naked in front of the mirror and likes what she sees.  Nice figure, pretty
face and hair, perky tits, full and firm and not yet yielded to gravity,
attractive nipples, dark and eager to be fondled.  Slight but cute
middle-age tummy bulge, then the bit of pubic hair remaining after last
night's shaving of everything around her cunt, all the way back to her ass
hole.  She turns around and looks over her shoulder, and is pleased with
her round, firm butt.  Long, lean, shapely legs.  She likes the look of her
cunt, with its well-defined outer folds just barely holding in the tender
edges of her inner lips, and the look of her clit, barely peeking out near
the top of her slit.  The total package isn't too bad, she thinks, after
all these years.  In just a few minutes her nakedness will be on display.

   She folds her clothes, slips on the robe and lets herself out into the
hallway.  Naked under the robe, she makes her way through the hall to find
the amphitheater where she will masturbate again, this time the mature
woman in the prime of a successful career in the very field her young
observers are qualifying for.  Now, without panties, she feels the lips of
her cunt sliding past each other.  It stimulates her arousal.  She can feel
the cool air under her bare bottom, a reminder of her vulnerability as she
looks for the right room.  With no underwear she's unprotected, and she
loves it.  She trembles with anticipation, as her legs become wobbly.  She
wonders if the students crowding the hallway can detect the sweet smell of
her arousal as she tiptoes past them, since there's no barrier to keep the
scent in.  With every step, she's reminded that everyone knows she is naked
under her robe.  She's still trying to control the movement of her lips,
because she's afraid to have an orgasm right here in the hallway.  She'd
love to have an orgasm right here in the hallway.  She wishes the fabric
was thicker, so her aroused nipples wouldn't be so obvious, or thinner to
reveal them more.  They're like two pointers showing her which direction to
take, and she's just following them!  But she loves the feeling of them
rubbing against the inside of the cloth, and she likes that everyone around
her seems to notice them.  They are very pointy right now.  And they're
just aching to be touched.  She's afraid that if the hem of her robe snags
on something, her nakedness will show.  In fact, she wishes that would
happen.  Her breathing is coming in irregular rushes.  She feels her clit
yearning for attention.  She feels all the sensitive nerve endings of her
clit and nipples sending signals nonstop to her brain.

   She could easily be mistaken for an art class model, but she remembers
that the art studios were in another building.  As a penniless student she
had modeled there, offering up her nakedness in return for money to meet
her tuition debts.  She had enjoyed modeling there, especially the poses
when she was "accidentally" penetrated by the male models, and the memory
sends pulses through her vagina.  Over the years, she's kept her trim
figure and continued modeling part time.  Modeling lets her be the only one
naked, much like she'll be doing today.  But today is for science.  And for
herself.  She imagines being naked right now, walking among all these fully
clothed students.  She knows they know that under the robe she's naked. 
The undergraduates don't know why, but the advanced grad students do, the
ones who wink at her.  She knows that they know what she'll be doing and
what they'll be seeing in just a few minutes.  Except they don't yet know
that she'll be without the sheet!  The secret excites her and she feels
another rush of fluid escape to run down the insides of her legs.  Almost
there.  Her well lubricated thighs slip easily past each other.  She loves
the feeling.  She's very afraid.  She returns the smiles of the knowing
students, wondering if they're thinking what she's thinking.  She wonders
if they're imagining what it would be like to fuck her.  She teases herself
about wanting to show them.

   As soon as she turns the last corner, her mind slides back again to that
fateful day twenty years earlier.  Back then, she was eager to masturbate
just as the course syllabus called for: lie down, get wired up, make love
to yourself, sit up and talk about it, done.  Previous volunteers, male and
female, had failed: premature ejaculations, no erection, dry or
unresponsive vagina, but mostly they couldn't overcome their shame.  Even
under that sheet.  But as a wild and carefree twenty-four year old still
experimenting with sex, she wanted to make a bold and daring statement, and
so planned to do everything called for, enjoy an earth-shattering orgasm
for science, then maybe throw off the sheet, jump to her feet and take a
bow!  Or something like that.

   These reminisces are interrupted when she reaches the entrance to the
physiology theater and realizes what must come next.  Her sense of shame is
rising, but so is her arousal.  A man, really a boy, holds the door open
for her and glances down her leg and makes an exaggerated sniff, just as
she feels the trickle running onto her foot.  She is mortified.  But just
on a whim, she quickly lifts the the robe to her waist, flashing her cunt.
He responds with another exaggerated inhalation through his nose, a broad
smile, and a Thumbs Up, and they laugh together.  But hers is a nervous
laugh.  She really doesn't know if she enjoyed the flash or not.  She
decides that she did.  As a middle-aged woman exposing herself to a student
half her age, she feels both desirable and humiliated, but mostly she feels
sexy.  She learns that this fellow will be among those who will take in her
full 'performance'.  The two of them joke that maybe she should stand out
here in the hall and give previews of the show about to start.  He could be
her pimp.  Anything to get her mind off of what she's about to do.  Is she
really as aroused as all her signs are indicating?  Her tight nipples are
straining against the robe, her breath is short and heavy, she can feel her
clit sliding in and out under its hood, her labia are engorged, she is very
aware of the scent from her vagina, and now everyone else is noticing. 
She's confused, trying to decide whether she's an honored goddess or a
slut. Either way, she's here to publicly perform a private sex act.  That
is, if she doesn't die of embarrassment first.

   Stepping into the room, the sight of the recliner where she masturbated
twenty years ago takes her memory back again to that earlier day.  She
imagines herself lying on it, spread out, totally vulnerable under
everyone's critical gaze.  Shame and humiliation again rise as her mind
relives that day.  The sheet is folded and out of the way.  In its place is
the so-called modesty panel, a strip of thin cotton about the size of a
scarf.  She questions her own judgement.

   As a young student she had masturbated on this very recliner.  Her
nakedness was hidden but her emotions were laid open for all to see.  She
felt sexy, she felt ashamed, she felt beautiful, she felt trashy, she
imagined herself a heavenly angel wearing wings and a halo, she saw herself
as a depraved whore.  That first session of self-love began slowly as she
fondled her aching nipples, then let the fingers of one hand explore the
insides of her slick labia.  As she brought some of the fluid to her mouth
she could taste herself, and used the fingers and thumb of her other hand
to nurture her clitoris.  The twenty-four year old of so long ago divided
her attention among her nipples, clit, and ass hole, fast then faster.  She
slowed down just to enjoy the pleasure of the moment, then picked up the
pace again.  Then paused to prolong the experience.  Whenever she got to
what seemed like the highest possible plateau, she leveled off to keep
herself right at that point.  Then, slipping down off that point of
unstable equilibrium, she'd try climbing again, to regain that high point
or maybe to try for even higher.  One or the other bare leg kicked out from
under the sheet.  Her chest heaved and fell in concert with the rising and
falling of the sheet lower down on her body.  Her face grimaced with pain
then smiled with pleasure.  A breast and possibly a nipple came into view
as she used her arms to stroke herself.

   At last, long last but still way too soon, her climax exploded all
around her, lifting her in a feeling of crushing weightlessness.  All eyes
were on her.  She felt nothing except her sexually sated body and the
sheet, now soaked with her warm fluids as well as her sweat.

   Now, this was the moment when the young student wanted to throw off the
sheet, reveal her nakedness, jump off the recliner, and take a triumphant
bow.  But, she couldn't move.  Her brain, already short-circuited from the
orgasm, was filling with disgust, guilt, self-loathing, and shame.  Shame
that so many people had witnessed her most intimate and private moment,
making love to herself.  The sense of victory over the failed volunteers
didn't come, leaving her with a sense of emptiness.  She then realised that
she'd still be in class with these students and instructors for the rest of
the semester, and then after graduation, perhaps going to work everyday
with some of them.  What had she done?  They hadn't seen her naked, but she
had exposed something of herself far more intimate.  Humiliated, she pulled
the top of the sheet over her face and stayed covered until she was sure
everyone had left the room.  Then she got up, pulled out the wires and
probes, quietly dressed, and stayed away from class for a week.  When she
finally returned, she had to face the further embarrassment of discussing
the data recorded from her orgasm, and had to endure the humility of giving
a first hand account from her own point of view.  She cried and sobbed
through most of the analysis, especially when the class studied the
photography of the changes in her genitals.  She was asked to explain what
she remembered from each phase of her orgasm.  But what embarrassed her the
most were the dozens of photos of her face as she climaxed.  It was like
they could read her soul.

   It is these memories that now, years later, flood her mind with such a
crescendo of mixed feelings.  Seeing the low platform she will soon mount
scares her.  Again she sees how vulnerable she was and now will be again.
Is this her guillotine, or is it her heavenly love-bed?  She'd read
somewhere that the French call the orgasm "The Little Death".  She isn't
bothered that they will view and study her cunt; that's what this
conference is all about.  But, more importantly, her face will be readable
during her climax; that's what had bothered her the most, way back when. 
Maybe she should use that 'modesty panel' over her face!  But mostly, she's
afraid that once she achieves her orgasm, those dark feelings of shame will
rise from the past and rob her once again of any sense of success.  She
wants to claim victory, even though it will have taken twenty years. 
During those years, she's built a successful career, becoming one of the
pre-eminent researchers in the field of human sexual response.  Her stature
in the subject, as well as her alumnae status, were the main reasons the
university invited her to organize this regional conference.  She's also
become more bold sexually, even though they don't know it.  It frightens
her that they'll know soon enough.  She can't wait to show them.

   Today she, not her former, immature self, will be the subject.  There
will be no sheet, only that modesty panel to be draped over her breasts. 
And the subject (she, of course) is to be available immediately afterward
to discuss her orgasm, and to take questions.  That is, if she survives the
humiliation.

   Today her fingernails and toenails are painted and polished, and her
wedding rings and diamond are cleaned to a bright lustre.  She has class,
and wants to show it.  Her hair is up in a neat twist, she's wearing tiny
pearl earrings, and has just a touch of lipstick to match her nails.  A
thin gold necklace and a matching anklet complete her look.

   As she approaches the recliner, all clinical and scientific thoughts are
slipping away, replaced again by the dread of what she's about to do: she's
about to finger-fuck herself!  As a researcher she's highly respected, but
in a few minutes she will again open her innermost self to colleagues from
all over the world, giving them intimate views of her most private parts,
and letting them see how she reacts when aroused.  She relishes the thought
of exposing herself, but she's scared, and can call it off right now, if
she chooses.  Keenly aware that she's naked under her robe, and knowing
that they all know it, she chats with the men and women there.  She
secretly wishes she could be naked right now, and jokingly mentions that
idea to a few of her closest friends.  Even though she's afraid and
vulnerable, she can't chicken out now!  She needs the orgasm data as much
as anyone else does, but it's the orgasm itself that she needs the most. 
She's right on the edge.  She wonders if the young man who "sniffed her
out" at the door is in the room yet, scans the faces, but isn't sure if she
sees him.

   Now the professor who gave her the robe steers her to the recliner. 
Just his touch on her elbow nearly sends her over the edge.  She glances
around to see the other researchers, as well as a few advanced students,
including a young man and a young woman who have each volunteered as
subjects for upcoming sessions, everyone taking their places at the desks
arranged around her recliner.  She recognises several men, and two women,
that she's slept with between marriages, the memories pushing her even
closer to the edge.  Eyes peering down on her, lots of them.  Lovers,
acquaintances, strangers.  She notices the linen panel for her tits.  She
wonders if volunteering for this was a good idea, but the tingling inside
her tells her that it is.  She wonders if she should have left that little
tuft of hair above her cunt.  She realises that the modesty panel will draw
more attention to her nipples than if they were bare.  She nearly orgasms
at the thought.

   She remembers her full bush of that other time, compared with how bare
she is today.  And thinks it should be the other way around.  Nowadays
younger women are smooth because of the tiny g-strings they use for swim
suits, and older women mostly just let it grow.  But she keeps hers
somewhere in between: nice trimmed patch above her slit and bare below
that. She keeps her lips hairless for a certain swimsuit, when she must
wear one; it's so narrow in front that it nearly disappears into her slit
and leaves her lips out.  She has other reasons to keep her lips bare: to
give the artists better views when she models, and to give her husband
better access when he eats her out.  She wishes his tongue were on her clit
right now.

   Even with this audience.  Actually, with these thoughts she's just
stalling because she's not sure what to do next.

   Still standing next to the recliner, she doesn't know whether to lie
down and then wiggle out of the robe, or just drop the robe and lie down.
She keeps the robe on and sits down on the edge of the recliner until the
others are ready for her.  She nervously plays with the recliner's
adjustments and sets the angle to slightly elevate her back to the angle
she knows from experience is best for fingering herself.

   She's still nervous about comes next, and of what her feelings and
reactions will be once she starts what she's here to do.  So far, putting
off the inevitable act that she craves.

   The others are taking their seats around her, some engaging her in small
talk but she's too occupied to pay attention.  She notices the modesty
panel and realises it's really just an empty pillow case.  She gets help
rotating the recliner around so she'll be facing her observers, so they'll
see her open cunt straight-on.  That's the easy part; revealing her face
and its emotions will be much more risky.

   She stretches out on the recliner, then, as the room lights are dimmed
she opens the robe and pulls it out from under her.  Lying there, tilted up
slightly, she takes a moment to enjoy the warmth of the flood lamps trained
on her nude body, so far just like the art studio.  But now the lab
technicians appear, one to insert the internal sensors and the other to
tape the heart rate and other wires to her chest.  She reflexively clamps
her legs closed.  The tape tech finishes, then hands her the modesty panel
for her breasts.  She accepts it but arranges it around her shoulders like
a shawl, leaving her tits bare.  She notices that her nipples show that she
needs to cum soon, and hopes nobody notices them.  She arches her chest out
a bit, to make them more prominent.  She likes the appreciative smiles this
brings, but keeps her legs together.

   She spots one of her really close coworkers in the gathering group and,
now feeling playful, stretches her legs wide, pulls her lips apart, and
jokingly asks if he can make out her clit from that distance.  He jokes
that he can't make out her clit because his glasses are too steamed up.  So
she tries again, swinging her parted legs around toward a friend not
wearing glasses.  She needs the humour and the reassurance of her friends
to diffuse the extreme tension hanging in the air.  She's trying to shift
the emphasis from sex to a clinical procedure that just happens to involve
views of a cunt.  Not just any cunt, but her cunt.  This is sex no matter
what, but she's hoping to get them to look upon her as a lab subject rather
than a sex object.  She knows that idea is futile, so continues playfully
displaying her sex.  The playful banter continues.  They compliment her
pubic hair style, and debate how her cunt would look bare.  They're helping
her kill time while the lab recorders are being set up.  She tells them her
clit is on fire and she's having a hard time resisting rubbing it.  She
points out her hard nipples and erect clit, and jokes to the techs to hurry
up or one of them might have to fuck her.

   Her heart is pounding nearly out of her chest, and her fluids are
flowing, leaking onto the recliner.  The area under her butt is wet so she
lifts her butt and spreads the robe under her to absorb it.  Her eyes scan
the darkened room, meeting the eyes staring down on her, waiting.  She
catches sight of Sniff Boy, so he's here after all!  He offers a teasing
wink, she responds with a smile and a quick wiggle of her tits.  She's
still feeling playful.  Then she remembers that, according to plan, she
still has to be fitted with the internal sensors.

   The tech comes around in front of her, lifts both legs, pushes them out
and down, then brings the soles of her feet together so as to make a
diamond shape of her legs.  Can she be more vulnerable than this?  She
loves it.  With her cunt now wide open, she feels its emptiness and the
wanton desire for something long, thick, and alive to fill it.  Instead,
she feels the cool flow from the air handler wafting into her, making her
shiver with excitement.  The tech asks her to hold her inner lips further
apart and inserts the vaginal wetness probe.  She again asks her friend
with glasses if he can see her clit well enough now.  They laugh. 
Everything in and around her cunt feels wet and warm and sticky.  She
begins summoning the imagery she'll use for fingering herself.  She savors
the thought that she's so exposed and available, and, lying there, wonders
what must be going through the minds of her former lovers, seven men and
two women, here in this room right now.  Would those men even want to fuck
her again, now that she's older?  Would they fuck her right here, with
everyone else watching?  Maybe all together, one after the other?  She
wonders if she'd be up for it, and imagines each man in turn leaving his
seat to come and fuck her, and how juicy her cunt would be after the first
few.  And the new fellows would be fucking her for the first time.  She
also holds onto the image of each woman in turn coming to lick her,
starting at the inside of one thigh and ending with the other, she's so
ready, right now.  The thought makes her even wetter, making the tech need
more time to insert the probe, which keeps slipping out, partly because her
lips are staying open.  By closing her inner lips around the wire he
finally gets the sensor to stay in.  As embarrassed as she is, she wanted
all participants to see how the recording devices are installed.  Well, now
they're seeing it, for sure!

   Next he has her tip her pelvis up so he can insert the temperature
probe. This is new to her; she's never before exposed her anus to anybody,
not to her lovers, not even the art students, and now a whole classroom
full of coworkers and strangers is watching this.  She feels humiliated,
but at the same time she enjoys a sexual rush that takes her breath away.
She thought she'd be revealing only her cunt for this study.  But now
they're getting all of her, inside and out.  By the nature of the study,
her cunt is a freebie no matter what, but so far she's showing a lot more,
and the masturbating hasn't even begun!  She felt very vulnerable with her
legs wide open and then when her ass hole was exposed.  But she loved the
thrill and excitement of it.  She feels embarrassed that they saw this. 
She hopes the techs will open her holes up again when they have to remove
the probes.  She's glad she made herself smooth, especially around her ass
hole.

   Looking down to some mirrors placed around her cunt, she sees that her
lips are engorged and open and that her clit is the most out she's ever
seen it, and the cool air from the overhead vents wafting across it starts
the first wave of an orgasm.  The orgasm starts to grow and she can't hold
it back.  She tries to conceal it, and manages to fool the men, but not the
women.  They know, but say nothing.  The men just think she's stretching.

   The techs finish prepping her and now she waits for them to start the
recorders and video cameras so she can do her part.  But first one
microphone is set near each set of lips: facial to record her moans and
breathing, labial to record any sounds from there.  The touch of the cool
metal against her cunt sends her into a mild orgasm, one she barely manages
to control.  Again, she feels like she's losing control of the experiment.
She wants so badly to have the Big One she's been holding back.  The
professor, this time perceptive enough to actually notice that she's having
an orgasm, asks if she'll still be able to masturbate so soon after just
having one.  Not realising that her voice is being amplified and broadcast
through the microphone, she whispers to him to first wait until she
finishes this one, and yes it is possible for a woman to have a no-touch
orgasm, like she's having right now.  After she quietly rides it through,
she tells him she is multi-orgasmic and can cum repeatedly, and that she
really needs to cum again, but with her hands like the experiment plan
calls for, and begs for permission to at least touch her clit, or else
somebody is going to have to fuck her right here.  This of course, is heard
by all.  She squirms in frustration as he checks that the cameras, mikes,
and recorders are running, and asks if everyone in the room has a good
view. With all systems go, he nods, and she begins, slowly at first,
building up wave after wave of her delayed orgasm.  Her legs feel numb,
then tingly, then numb again.  She fondles her nipples gently, then starts
pulling on them, then moves her hands down to work her cunt.  The overhead
screen shows a magnified view of her fingers as one hand spreads her lips
while with her other hand she squeezes then circles her clit.  The
microphone placed at her cunt picks up and broadcasts the sloshing and
sucking sounds, while the one at her mouth amplifies her moaning and
gasping.  The sounds from both mikes fill the room.  She's embarrassed by
the squishing sounds from her cunt.  Suddenly, a jet of clear
sweet-smelling fluid sprays upward from within her, squirting up then
arcing over, like the fountain in a public park.  Her legs flail wildly. 
She knows she's totally lost control and is at the mercy of her
long-awaited climax.  This is the Big One.  She's barely conscious of the
people around her, and is totally consumed with her orgasm.  Now she
doesn't care who sees what.  She's experiencing a full-body, full-brain,
orgasm, bare breasts heaving, her slick fluids everywhere.  Out of control
and totally uninhibited, she snatches one of the microphones and shoves it
up her cunt, broadcasting the amplified sucking and spurting sounds.  She
pumps the instrument in and out of herself, but can't seem to finish off
this way, so she tosses it aside and rolls over, gets on her knees and
elbows, ass in the air, ruins her expensive hairdo, shakes her shoulders
and tits wildly, then slides off the recliner and begins humping its
corner, rubbing her clit against it, then tries taking the corner into her
vagina as she continues to hump wildly.  The wires are all ripped from the
recorders.  Pushing her pubic bone hard onto the edge of the recliner, she
finally reaches her climax, gasps, and collapses on the floor, her
twitching legs coming to rest.  Her hair is all over the place.  Her cunt
lips look swollen and abused.  A silvery strand of clear fluid trails from
her cunt to the side of the recliner.  A few adhesives are still stuck to
her skin, and the severed wires hang from her openings.  As she regains
consciousness, the techs gently and respectfully remove them.

   Her mind slowly emerges from the fog of her massive and very public
orgasm, as she remembers that this is the moment, twenty years ago, when
she was overcome with shame.  She now has to fight that same battle.  Today
she has revealed far more of herself, remembering that back then she didn't
even get naked, except for the techs, and all she did then was finger
herself under the sheet.  This time it's different and she feels empowered
by it.  She has smashed all boundaries, thrown away all limits on herself
and exposed herself physically, emotionally, and psychologically.  As she
slowly regains her ability to think, she looks around, realises she's been
lying here naked for who knows how long, so there's no point in covering up
and hiding as she did so many years ago.  Right now she's here, she's
naked, she has delivered the required orgasm for science, and the other
researchers are waiting, in fact they are standing and applauding.  Rising,
and finally taking that long-delayed bow, she declares victory over her
past and resolves to complete the seminar, as planned.  She wants to do a
cartwheel but knows she's no longer nubile enough for that, so settles for
a pirouette and a curtsey.  Bowing in all directions, she knows she's
treating some to a view of her underside, but now she no longer feels she
must protect her ass hole.

   Now fully composed, she savors the afterglow of her cataclysmic orgasm.
She's invigorated and feels great.  Sexy and great.  She asks for some
water, finds the modesty panel/pillow case, holds it across her chest and
excuses herself for a potty break.  She practically dances down the hall.
Barefoot, hair down, covering her tits with the panel, she knows she's
radiating raw sexuality to the outsiders in the crowded hallway.  It turns
her on, and she lets the cloth drop a bit to expose a nipple.  Then
playfully wears it like a little skirt, giving them both her tits.  She
really doesn't care what anyone sees or thinks.  Concerned students offer
help, but she tells them she's just fine and has never felt happier.

   A few minutes later she's back in the room, among her colleagues.  The
room lights are turned up.  She uses the modesty panel to mop the recliner,
still slick with her juices.  She decides she won't be blatantly naked, but
she'll just be casually nude if it's appropriate.  Right now is
appropriate. She notices the scent of her sex hanging in the air.  At first
she's ashamed, but then she takes pride in it.  After some casual chat, she
goes to the podium to start the question-and-answer part of the session. 
She feels really good.  She's enjoying being the only one naked in this
workday setting.  She feels the same breath-taking thrill she gets when
staying nude during the breaks when she's modeling for artists.  Though
she's been nude in many situations, the thrill is new each time.  And she
loves that her cunt feels wet and slippery, and relishes the thought that
the Campus Police could raid at any moment.  Will they take her away naked?
She's a grown, mature woman, not an impulsive student!  Will they put the
pillow case over her head?  Maybe they'll put the handcuffs on behind her
back.  Will they take her to the station naked?  She loves this feeling of
risk.

   So right now she's naked, there are no cops around, she's completed the
demo, she's now running the meeting, and she has everyone's attention.  Of
course she has their attention; they have the questions and she has the
answers.  And she's naked; that always brings attention.  She has a job to
finish.  The discussion phase starts.

   But first she takes a few minutes to remind the other researchers that
what they've just shared was very special to her, and she hopes to them as
well.  She knows not many would do what she's just done, and even fewer
would overcome the shame.  But that any shame would hers alone to accept or
reject, and she chooses to reject it.

   The first questioner wants to know what imagery or fantasies she uses
when bringing herself off.  Her answer is that, other than soft breezes and
and a glass of wine on a tropical beach, she replays in her mind any one of
the times she's been naked, like modeling, hosting home Superbowl parties
naked, the Bay-to-Breakers race, the World Naked Bike Ride where she
usually gets an orgasm from the bike seat, streaking dares, "losing" her
bathing suit in the surf, times that she was nude in a play, a couple of
orgies, some of her Halloween costumes, when she auditioned for "Naked and
Afraid", beach sex with friends.  She tells us that at her age she doesn't
need to fantasise; she can just think back to any of her real-life
adventures.  As for fantasies, the only one she hasn't yet lived is to
organize a party for all her former lovers and make love again to each one
before the night is over, but that she actually did have several of them
come and fuck her the night before her wedding, and sometimes she thinks of
that when she masturbates.

   They ask her what imagery she used today, and she replied about how
thrilling it was to be so exposed in front of colleagues, and how she
imagined them leaving their seats to come fuck or lick her.  Especially
being fucked by certain ones.  She admits that at the moment, she was so
filled with sexual energy that she probably would have done it, although in
reality she'd stay faithful to her husband.  But that just thinking of the
possibility pushed her over the top.  She reveals that between marriages
she enjoyed regularly fucking in public, mostly at beach parties, and so
would have no inhibitions doing it with an audience of scientists, like the
researchers in front of her right now.  And that she had left an earlier
husband for his refusal to fuck her in public, but she was still working on
her present husband.

   She apologises for losing control and humping the recliner, but nobody
seemed to mind.

   As part of the research, every few minutes she teases her clitoris out
and has someone photograph its changing size, shape and color as a function
of elapsed time since her orgasm.  They also have a device to measure the
viscosity of her vaginal flow, so they wipe some up to compare with the
earlier samples.  She's loving her newly-found permission to abandon
boundaries.  Starting today she's allowing herself to behave as freely in
her professional life as she does in the rest of her life.  She loves it.
It frightens her.

   This brings up the question from a female student, of how to pursue a
career in this field without becoming a laboratory subject.  She answers by
saying it's perfectly possible to work as a data-taker or an analyst, but
you'll be able to contribute so much more if you'll just shed your clothes,
drop your inhibitions, get on your back, open your crack, invite your
colleagues in, do your handy work and claim the orgasm for yourself rather
than just watch someone else's!  She pantomimes all these steps as she
speaks.

   She spends some extra time with the two students who'd volunteered for
later sessions, encouraging them to masturbate regularly, preferably in
front of friends or their respective partners.  She gives the girl some
pointers on holding back, but can't help the boy much, except to remind him
that for the past hour he's obviously learned to control himself in the
presence of a very naked and very brazen lady!  She does take a moment,
however, to show him with her own fingers how he might honor a girlfriend's
clitoris.  During this orgasm, she suggests that he might learn more by
paying attention to her face rather than the usual guy thing of staring
between her legs.  Just to make sure, she does it for him twice: once for
the face and once for between the legs.  Turns out he really can't control
himself that well, so she discretely hands him a notebook to cover his lap.
She secretly feels proud that she can still excite a male half her age.

   Another wants to know if her husband will learn what she just did, and
how he'll handle it.  So she takes that moment to stand up, points out her
husband, moves over to him, puts his hand to her nipple, and gives him a
long, sensuous, kiss while wrapping her naked body around him, leaving his
pant leg soaked.  Then the husband explains that tonight they will have
wonderful sex together, just like most nights, but especially tonight since
he can see now how worked up she is.  As for seeing her naked in front of
others, he mentions that when he was first introduced to her she was naked
and having sex with several different partners at a beach party.  She takes
his hand and runs it down her crotch and along the inside of her leg, while
explaining that in spite of the libertine display they'd all seen this
afternoon, these days she makes love with nobody but her husband.  And
herself.

   In the evening there's a cocktail party and dinner to mark the
conclusion of the week-long conference.  She's the honored guest, having
provided the 'climax' to the technical sessions.  Escorted by her husband,
she arrives wearing what appears to be a conservative off-the-shoulder gown
in shimmering scarlet.  She makes the rounds, chatting up acquaintences old
and new.  After a few minutes, it looks like one breast is exposed, then a
few minutes later, when she's with a different couple, it looks like maybe
the other breast is out instead.  Then both, but only maybe.  Soon after,
the garment is loosely over one shoulder, flowing down one side of her
body, leaving her other side exposed.

   On closer look, it turns out that her entire outfit is a single thin
satin sash about half a meter wide and five or six meters long, plus her
high heels.  Apparently, for her arrival she simply wound it around
herself, beginning under her arms and spiralling down to mid-thigh.  In
that configuration, she'd be welcome at Buckingham Palace.

   Away from the Palace, however, she can arrange and rearrange the sash
any way she wants.  And she does.  To the delight of the other guests, she
plays with it in all sorts of configurations.  At times, a glance in her
direction shows only bare flesh, head-to-toe, the sash folded and draped
over one arm, or worn as a turban.

   Sometimes she has it around the back of her neck then forward over her
shoulders, with the ends just flowing where they might, maybe covering her
tits but then maybe not.  She flirts with Sniff Boy by using it as a lasso
to haul him in against her naked self.  She uses it to wrap herself and her
husband together for a slow dance.

   In nearly every configuration it's evident that she's removed any
remaining pubic hair.  And that the internal folds are still open and
flushed pink from earlier in the day.  And very wet.

   In high spirits, she holds the sash out in front then brings it to her
chest to see if it can stay in place just hanging from her nipples.  Even
after several tries it keeps falling to the floor, but she suggests that
twenty years back it might have stayed up.  That reminder of her student
orgasm for science again brings up the mixed feelings from that event, but
she's having too good a time to dwell on it.

   Before dinner is served, chooses a table and drapes the sash across the
backs of two of the chairs to reserve seats for herself and her husband,
then returns to the cocktail party and dances with several of her friends
and some of the new students.  The sash is waiting for her when she
returns, and she arranges part of it to cover the seat cushion and brings
the remainder up to sometimes cover one breast or the other.

   She's about to receive an award, and is asked by the MC to get ready to
ascend the dais.  Which means, put something on.  She arranges the sash in
original form as it was at the start of the evening.  She then climbs the
four steps, but upon learning the name of the award, pulls up the front of
her garment to her waist to display herself below.  Now, by comparison, the
attendees can understand the petal-like design on this year's "Cunning
Stunt" award.