A Sexperiment at Biggin Hill

by Danarama

“Let me tell you why you’re strapped onto this wooden board,” he said,
His white lab coat a paisley tapestry of stains of every color, mostly red.

“I was informed about your birthday wish to be taken by a stranger,
And your beloved asked if we could somehow simulate the danger.”

“Plus the villagers are well aware of your…unique…female talents.
And we want to learn the root of them, for fear they’re out of balance.”

Her eyes peeled wide, so wide her lids could barely keep their orbs contained
But through her groggy vision she could focus on her captors if she strained.

A taste of bitter oysters seemed to linger on her lips and tongue,
A tiny speck of blood peeked from the spot at which her shoulder stung.

Her arms were bound above her head, at the elbows and the wrists,
Circumscribed by shiny cuffs of steel, like cold robotic fists.

Likewise her legs stretched wide apart, each on its own extension,
Her ankles, calves and thighs thus shackled into this invention.

A brass and leather corset restrained her tightly at the waist,
A plasma disc upon its busk, in which tubes and cords were placed.

“Forgive our brutal methods,” he continued to explain.
“It is not our…chief…intention here to cause you any pain.”

“We know that you are special, that you convulse in trance-like spasms,
That these come to you from touching near your tiny open chasms.”

She struggled in a furious burst; her heels and fists began to pound.
All his apprentices stepped back, but the good doctor stood his ground.

Lowering his goggles, he raised a finger on the hand down at his side.
As was rehearsed, a man against the wall then threw a switch and smirked with pride.

The sound of buzzing, sparks and crackles loudly sizzled through the air,
Her corset flashed, she arched her back, and upward rose her hair.

She could not scream. Her mouth agape, was silent in surprise.
Instead she shed a single tear and quivered in her thighs.

Then a lonely drip of moisture trickled down below her crotch,
All the men within the room drew slowly closer just to watch.

“You see, your resistance is… fruitless…and only makes things…hard.
So perhaps you’d better just accept our tests. We wouldn’t want you…scarred.”

“Please!” she mustered, “Do this for me and I’ll do anything you ask!”
Their eyebrows rose. Their ears pricked up. They poised their quills to jot the task.

“I cannot bear for long to leave my tiny fuzzy garden unattended,
My hands can’t reach, so if not free, then someone else must help to mend it.”

The doctor motioned to one man to approach the girl with care.
He laid a hand upon her breast and smoothed aside her hair.

His other hand then slid between her legs as she requested.
He spread apart the lips down there, as her breath became arrested.

Her tissue swelled and moistened, as if watering the furrow.
So he began to rub there, just to test, and he was thorough.

“Augghh!” she moaned. “It is the time! Something in-here must be planted!”
So another man revealed his stake of flesh. Her wish was granted.

As one man held her furrow open, the other plowed it under.
She writhed as much as her straps allowed, while his thrusts tore her asunder.

She arched her back, her body quaked, so much they thought the switch was thrown.
But no, this voltage came from within her, and the three began to groan.

Two men replaced the two that now crawled, spent, upon the ground,
As “More!” and “More!” and More!” she wailed, their pelvises would pound.

And then a great sweet gushing like a fountain from her mound ensued,
It drenched the men, the doctor too, before it had subdued.

“Now step aside,” the doctor barked, “I need to test this for my thesis!”
He clutched her breasts like steam pipe knobs and began grinding her to pieces.

Once again her shudders rose in ever increasing crescendos,
As she screamed, he planted his seed, and their outburst shook the windows.

Then, like the calm on a storm-thrashed beach, they surveyed all the mess.
As her panting slowed and softened, this he asked her to confess:

“What ho? Pray tell, my lovely guest,” he said. “What is this strange affliction?
Is it a curse? Are you possessed? What drives this…gardening addiction?”

“This is chimerical, utopian, absurd!” he cried, “To think a woman could enjoy,
The simple act of copulation as much as any boy.”

“There is no need, for such a thing, no biological compulsion!
He scratched his head, as she laid half dead, and oozed out his expulsion.

“It must be you’re a mutant! One of Darwin’s freaks of nature, yes!”
That will be my conclusion, at the closing of this test.”

The apprentices, still groggy, rose and helped release her shackles.
And as she rose onto her feet, they began to hear her cackles.

“Oh how little you men know about the nature of us creatures!
You cannot see beyond your cocks and our promontory features.

“Someday the likes of me will be more plentiful than you are,
And Victorian misconceptions will crawl back into the sewer!”

She finally donned her petticoats, her bustle and her bonnet,
Then was taken away, echoing her final phrase, and left the men to think upon it.

“What a crock,” they chuckled to themselves imagining a world,
Where the females enjoyed superior sex. “Oh, such a silly girl!”