Ted Mark - Dr. Nyet

I found myself looking at a picture of a fully clothed girl. Prudence turned the page and the girl was still fully clothed except that her gloves were removed. When the next page was turned, the photo showed the girl with her shoes off. Now Prudence stopped turning the pages and began riffling them. The pictures dissolved one into the other to show a rapid strip tease. When all her clothes were off, the girl was stretched out nude on a bed.

But that wasn't the end of the sequence. Far from it. Prudence continued turning the pages slowly again, and with each new picture the girl was caressing her naked body more and more intimately. Then Prudence riffled the pages again and the effect was of the girl having an erotic ball all by her lonesome.

The model played with her large breasts until the roseates widened and the nipples distended. The riffling pictures gave the impression of her breasts heaving rapidly as, with eyes half closed, she caressed her lower body. The photos blended into a series of close-ups of this area as she manipulated various objects and the flesh began pulsating as if with a life of its own. Then they blended back into the full view to show her body writhing as her hand disappeared almost to the wrist. The grand finale showed her jackknifing with a double-jointed display that was pretty amazing.

"Isn't that disgusting?" Prudence said, gazing over my shoulder and breathing a little rapidly herself.

"Disgusting!" I granted. "And I wouldn't have thought it possible, either."

"It's not. These pictures have been doctored."

"How can you tell for sure?"

"They had to be. What she's doing is impossible. I checked to make sure of that."

"How did you check?"

"I tried it. For position only, of course. I'm in pretty good shape, you know. Physically, I mean. So I did my duty and attempted it. Believe me, it's an anatomical impossibility."

"You certainly do take your work seriously," I complimented her. "Not many people in your position would be willing to make such sacrifices."

"I believe in what I'm doing," Prudence said. "And it's necessary to know exactly what we're up against. That's why I devote so much time to this filth. Most of the people in my chapter of S.M.U.T. have never even seen this sort of thing. They have no idea of the real nature of the evil they're fighting. By taking the burden on myself, I save them from ever having to confront it. I am strong enough to do this while someone like Peter, say, might be overwhelmed by it. But," she added, "you haven't seen anything yet, Mr. Victor. Here, take a look at this." She brought me another folder.

This one contained printed matter. It was a booklet called The Naughty Nympho. I opened it at random and started reading. Prudence read right along with me. I could feel one of her breasts rising and falling as it pressed against my arm.

"… Dolly was burning with lust as she looked at the stripling lad," I read. "No older than she, he had not her experience and so trembled under her insinuating gaze. Dolly wasted no time on words. She pulled off her clothing until she stood before him clad only in her shift. Then she kissed him, her body clinging to his, feeling the rock of his burning manhood through the flimsy material covering her soft belly. When the kiss was over, he tore off his own clothing, so aroused that his shyness was forgotten. Dolly gasped with admiration at the magnificent length of his passion. She made haste to caress it, and her eyes opened wide as it swelled in her grasp. He had pushed the shift down to her waist now, and his face was buried in the creamy roundness of her wondrous white bosom like a greedy little tom-kitten lapping up a saucer of milk. Wild with desire, but fearful at what she might have unloosed, Dolly pulled off her shift altogether and mounted him. Before settling herself, she paused to look once again at his mighty machine. Almost, she changed her mind at the sight of it. Surely it would split her asunder! Surely she would never survive such an impalement! But his hands clasped the hot flesh of her round buttocks and forced her to complete the motion she had started. Pain and pleasure mingled as the hot poker of his manhood pierced her, and then…"

"Turn the page! What are you waiting for? Turn the page!" Prudence was taut with impatience beside me.

"I'm just resting my eyes," I told her. "This print is so fine, and the light's kind of dim here."

"Oh. Well, we can fix that." She clapped her hands twice, and the room was plunged into darkness. "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "There must be a short circuit somewhere." She calpped her hands once, and the lights came back on the way they'd been before. Then she reached over her head and clapped again. A reading light beamed down from the wall behind us. "Do you want to go on?" she asked. "Or would you rather look at something different?"

"I think I get the idea of this one," I told her. "But I'm afraid I don't understand why you're showing me these things."

"I want you to appreciate the full scope of what S.M.U.T. is up against," she told me. "It's necessary if you're to play a major role in our activities. Here, just look at these! Aren't they appalling?"

She took a small box from one of the filing cabinets and handed it to me. I opened it to find a dozen or so wood-carvings inside. They were quite intricate, obviously done by a master, and highly detailed. Each one featured a man and a woman, both naked, in very sophisticated sexual positions.

"These come from India," she told me, removing one of the little wooden sculptings and holding it in the palm of her hand. "There are few cultures so depraved as the one from which these items come." Her fingers trailed delicately over the wooden sex organs. "Notice that the erotic titillation is accomplished by surpassing reality," she said, her eyes glittering as she stared at the sculpture, a fine film of perspiration glistening on her brow.

"Surpassing reality?" I shrugged. "I don't think so, the position is unusual, I'll grant, but quite within the realm of possibility."

"Do you really think so? Do you really think it's possible for a man and woman to have sexual congress in such a manner?" I noticed that she was surreptitiously clenching and unclenching her thighs as she asked the question.

"Yes," I told her, and then momentarily changed the subject. "The erotic titillation you mentioned before? Doesn't it ever effect you? I mean, being forced to spend so much time with the kind of material you've shown me, don't you find yourself responding to it despite yourself?"

"I'm afraid I do," she admitted, lowering her eyes. "But I struggle against it. My body struggles against it."

"And you're struggling right now," I guessed, aware that the little, secret, rhythmic movements of her hips were making the couch move under us.

"I am. But I always win my struggle, Mr. Victor. In the end my body always finds the contentment of virtue. I always conquer my lust."

I saw that she was serious. And I realized that she wasn't even aware that when she "conquered her lust" she was actually releasing it. She didn't admit to her orgasms; she merely had them and told herself they were triumphs over passion. Well, to each his own, I told myself.

"Surely you're mistaken, Mr. Victor," she was saying now. "Surely this particular position is unattainable." She continued bouncing on the couch, seemingly unaware of what she was doing.

"I say it is attainable."

"Then prove it." Her tongue darted between her lips as if obeying some inspiration apart from her, an inspiration all its own.

"What do you mean?"

"Prove it. With me. Show me how it's possible."

"Do you mean -?"

"Certainly not, Mr. Victor!" She actually looked shocked. "I simply mean that we should assume the position. With our clothes on, of course. Just to see if it really is possible."