Nice and Slow

- Horndog D -

"Hey, everybody! I've got something incredibly cool to show you guys today. We're going to be taking it slow, but that doesn't mean sl— I mean boring, 'cause it... Augh! Shit."

Lena's chair creaked as she fell against the backrest and rubbed her eyes under her glasses. "Shit," she repeated. Botching a take five times in a row was a new record for the hedgehog—one she accepted as a sign that it was time to admit defeat. She switched off the camera and slumped forward in her seat pushing out a frustrated sigh. Eager as she was to continue work on her next video, her mind was simply too frazzled to concentrate, the combination of too much stress and too little sleep having left her in no state to present the cheery, energetic personality her viewers had come to expect. She stretched a cramping muscle in her back as she stood, then set to work taking down the whiteboard she used as a backdrop when filming.

Her name was Lena Thompson, but just over eleven thousand YourTube subscribers knew her as the Cutting 'Edgehog. Her web series had launched during her first month of college two years earlier, at which time it took the form of a weekly vlog where she talked about recent breakthroughs in the scientific community and how they might conceivably impact the everyday lives of the population. As a physics major, it presented Lena with a way to combine aspects of her coursework with her favorite hobby of making movies. When her channel proved unexpectedly popular, she gradually transitioned away from covering news stories and began producing increasingly elaborate edutainment videos, each week covering a different subject ranging from biochemistry to the hydrological cycle to the physics of black holes.

The reward for her hard work came in the form of a steadily-growing audience and a trickle of ad revenue that helped cover the cost of the various caffeinated beverages she frequently bought from the coffee shop on campus. The downside of her success was the creation of new expenses that left her desperately poor. Most of her allowance went toward textbooks and groceries, leaving next to nothing to cover the rising production costs of her videos.

Lena's face contorted in a grimace as she struggled to buff away a faint blue stain on the surface of the whiteboard. It was a futile effort. She'd purchased the board from a discount office supply website, and after months of regular use, the cheap material had absorbed too many layers of marker ink to wipe completely clean. "Dammit," she muttered. There was one more expense beyond the reach of her meager budget.

Her only hope to continue bringing the Cutting 'Edgehog to the internet was to increase the income she received from ad views. Of course, that required more video views—which required more enticing content and higher production values. Lena had struggled inside the confines of this catch-22 for months, and it thrilled her to finally possess a way to break free.

Abandoning the whiteboard, the hedgehog turned her attention to the box containing her secret weapon: a high-speed video camera. She'd felt a twinge of guilt asking her parents for such an expensive gift, but rationalized it on the basis that she'd only have one twenty-first birthday in her life. It was an opportunity she couldn't afford to waste.

Besides that, the camera was really more of an investment in her future. Slow-motion videos were crack cocaine for YourTube surfers, and Lena had no difficulty understanding why. Better perhaps than most, she appreciated the abundant beauty inside those instantaneous occurrences that normally eluded the naked eye. The way the wings of a bee flexed as they beat the air... The way the head of a matchstick blistered and crackled the moment it first ignited... The way the skin of a popped water balloon retracted to leave a perfectly-formed liquid orb hanging in midair for the briefest instant before gravity took hold... It was all so wonderfully mesmerizing.

Resigned to the fact that midterms had left her too wiped out to film any host segments, Lena decided to review the footage she'd captured in the three days since first receiving what one of the girls on her floor had ignorantly called her "new toy." (Lena's correction came fast as the crack of a whip: her new investment.) With the camera's onboard memory connected to her laptop, she pulled up the saved files for editing one after another.

More than anything else, the thing that amazed Lena the most about slow-motion playback was the effect it had of making everything seem so impossibly huge. When the footage was slowed down enough, an egg being dropped on a cutting board looked like an event of inconceivable destruction—a catastrophic disaster on the scale of the Hindenburg. A two-inch-long firecracker turned into a bundle of dynamite detonating in a fiery explosion powerful enough to blow the foundation out from under a fifty-story skyscraper. With the distraction of movement minimized, every detail came through in surreally dazzling clarity. Rainfall became a shower of jewels as big as the Hope Diamond, every drop sparkling as it floated delicately through space on a languorous course toward the ground.

Lena fell into a trance as she experimented with different playback speeds. Replayed at one-fiftieth of real time, even the most mundane subject matter became breathtaking. A kitchen knife slicing a watermelon in half transformed into a titanic slab of rock splitting a continent of lush jungles ahead of a tsunami stained an apocalyptic shade of crimson.

Time slipped away from the hedgehog as she worked. Eventually, her eyes ached from staring at the screen and her body itched with the urge to move. She noticed it was after midnight and stretched with a tired groan, thankful her schedule lacked any early classes the next morning. The chance to sleep in meant she still had enough time to relieve a kind of tension that had been gradually building inside her for most of the week.

Setting her laptop aside, Lena released her auburn hair from the tie binding it into a ponytail and flopped on the comforter covering her bed. Even before she'd slipped her shorts completely off her legs, a pleasant tingling radiated from her crotch. Her neglected pussy drooled at the lightest touch, the moisture seeping into the fabric of her underwear.

Because the spines covering the backside of her torso had a tendency to poke holes in her panties, Lena had started wearing a G-string thong as soon as she was old enough to buy her own clothes. In addition to their practicality, Lena loved the way G-strings felt, especially when she was horny. She bought them a size small so the strings provided a satisfying pinch around her thighs. Following some experimentation, she'd learned how to walk so the triangle of fabric wedged itself snugly between the lips of her pussy, the friction secretly stimulating her most intimate parts while she walked around in broad daylight.

Thoughts of her public escapades sent shivers through her body as Lena teased the underwear down her thighs until the strings stretched taut between her knees. She swirled a finger between the juicy folds of her slit and moaned pleasurably. A memory flashed through her mind of Tiffany fingering her and giggling as she said, "Doesn't it sound like when you stir a bowl of macaroni and cheese?"

Tiffany was a skunk Lena had dated for several months in high school. Brief as their relationship was, it had been intense, consisting largely of hot summer nights spent writhing in ecstasy behind the barrier of a locked bedroom door. An aspiring singer, Tiffany possessed the voice of an angel and a tongue like a demon's.

Lena squirmed as she recalled the sensations of that tongue lapping at her nipples, dancing down the short fur of her belly, around her navel, and then plunging hungrily into the hot depths of her pussy. She used a pair of fingers to recreate the tongue's path over her vulva, drawing slippery moisture across the puffy lips. Her hips bucked involuntarily when the digits slipped inside her hole, the tunnel clenching rhythmically around her probing fingertips.

"Oh, Tiffany! Oh my god. Yeah! Lick my pussy, babe! Oh my FUCK!" Lena's voice entered her ears as a piercing shriek, the sound amplified as it echoed between the walls of her tiny dorm room. Fear snapped her mouth shut when she realized the occupants of the neighboring rooms might hear her. Girls she had to see nearly every day, both in and out of class, eyeing her with subtly critical expressions that said they knew she was a filthy pervert who finger-fucked herself in the unearthly hours of the night... A rush of excitement made her shudder. The temperature inside the room seemed to shoot up a dozen degrees.

Lena's fingers trailed a long thread of clear fluid when she removed her hand from her soggy cunt. Part of her wanted to let go and proceed to a screaming climax, but she knew being the subject of a formal complaint wasn't worth the risk. She needed something, though—some motivator to help bring her to the kind of quivering, gushing, full-body orgasm she craved. Her body was thirsty for a genuine squirting climax.

An idea entered her head as by divine inspiration straight from the gods of perversity. She immediately dismissed the thought, but found it refused to stay banished from her imagination. Her eyes wandered to the high-speed camera sitting on the desk. "No," she thought aloud. She couldn't. The thing wasn't a toy, after all. Even if she was rummy from lack of sleep and her blood boiled with desire, she knew that much.

Lena exhaled slowly. Her ear flicked away a bead of sweat. It was absolutely out of the question. Her pussy oozed warm nectar down the crack of her ass where the stream split to either side of her stubby tail. She just couldn't.

On the other hand, how could she not.

Within a few minutes, the camera sat mounted on a tripod with the lens aimed at the foot of the bed where Lena lay fully nude and spread-legged. She told herself this too was all for the benefit of science. The female orgasm was a tragically under-studied subject in the field of medical academia—female ejaculation, even more so. Her left hand gripped a small remote used to control the camera while her right massaged the interior walls of her sex. When she began to near her peak, she switched to rubbing tight circles over her engorged clitoris. Twice she approached the edge of climax before backing off, each time leaving herself more frantically desperate to come. On her third attempt she went full bore, vibrating her index finger against her clit until her arm went numb from the elbow down.

"That's it! That's it, Tiff! Suck my clit! Ohhhh! Fuck yeah! Fuck!"

Lena yelled in whispers as she sailed past the point of no return. Her left thumb jammed the record button on the remote a split second before her brain exploded in a burst of erotic euphoria. She fought to remain as still as possible, but couldn't stop her back from arching off the bed or her thighs from trembling. Her pussy clenched and spasmed, spritzing the comforter with multiple squirts of creamy cunt juice.

Several minutes passed before Lena fully descended from her orgasmic high. Once her panting decelerated to stable breaths, she lifted herself into a sitting position and stared down at the camera focused between her legs. With the surge of lust beginning to wane, her position suddenly felt obscene. She brought her knees together, hiding her soaked crotch from the camera's cold, unblinking eye. A sick feeling of disgust condensed in the pit of her stomach.

Quickly, she rolled off the bed and repacked her birthday present into its box, careful not to let her eyes catch sight of the card her parents had sent with it. She pushed the box up against the wall beneath her desk. When it was tucked as much out of sight as possible, she stood up and wrapped herself in a robe. Outside the window, the earliest wave of morning commuters brought the rushing wind sound of cars speeding down the highway.

The very picture of exhaustion, Lena stifled a yawn as she plodded down the hall to the bathrooms. She wanted nothing more than to soak in hot bath, eat a nice meal, and sleep for at least a week. She settled for a quick shower, a Pop-Tart, and six hours in bed before a wailing alarm clock demolished her dreams of frolicking on a tropical beach.

*  *  *

A Saturday night keg party sounded like a golden opportunity to blow off some steam and wash away the layer of mental grime accumulated over the course of a stressful week. To Lena's disappointment, the reality proved underwhelming. None of her friends showed up, the music was awful, and the beer tasted like it had been recycled from a urinal in a sports bar. She only managed to drink half a cup, which was substantially less than she required to tolerate the procession of drunk frat boys brazenly invading her personal space. She stuck it out for an admirable forty-five minutes before fabricating a reason to leave.

The brisk pace that took her outside the range of the blaring dubstep quickly lost momentum the closer the hedgehog got to her dorm building, until she ascended the final set of stairs with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner returning to her cell. Still sober, she had no excuse to spare herself from another long night of editing. The mere thought of trying to salvage a recently-recorded voice over polluted with background noise very nearly drove her back to the kegger.

As she waited for her laptop to boot up, Lena's wandering gaze caught sight of the high-speed camera tucked under the desk. She realized she hadn't touched the thing since the wee hours of Thursday morning. Heat flooded into her cheeks as the memory returned. Hit by a fresh wave of regret, she suddenly deemed it a priority to erase whatever the camera had captured.

The video saved to the camera's memory was thirty seconds long in real time—the maximum amount of footage that could be recorded before it hit the size limit Lena had set for each file. She selected the icon and hit the delete key.

A dialog box appeared: Are you sure you want to move this file to the Recycle Bin?

The box lingered on the screen for several long seconds before Lena clicked NO. She chewed her lower lip. Her compulsively inquisitive nature threatened to haunt her if she deleted the file without so much as peeking at what she'd shot. A brief struggle between her emotions ended with curiosity emerging the victor. She hastily double-clicked the file before giving herself time to reconsider.

Lena went wide-eyed as the laptop's screen filled with the image of her vagina blown up to the size of the Grand Canyon. The walls of her labia soared what appeared to be a mile above the flooded valley below, the spongy peaks and ridges all shining with a crystalline sheen. The ravine stretched across the vast plains of her mons to the crest of the horizon.

The shape of the divide slowly moved and shifted as Lena watched. The seconds stretched into minutes, the cursor always hovering over the timeline bar but never clicking to jump the video forward. A familiar tingling blossomed between Lena's thighs, prompting her left hand to furtively creep beneath the waistband of her pants. Hunting fingertips made contact with her pussy lips, confirming slick wetness leaking from between them.

On the screen, the liquid flowing from the wide vaginal valley resembled the waters of a Biblical flood. The cliff face of her fingernail earthquaked above the cavern of her clitoral hood, the smooth monolith within burned a sunset shade of pink.

Even as the terrain displayed on her laptop appeared oddly foreign, the girl's fingers found familiar territory as they explored beneath her thong. She teasingly wiped across her clit several times before locking a finger in place to rub the sensitive bud. Sharp gasps sucked into her throat as her back went rigid.

The landscape reflected in Lena's glasses began to transform more drastically. The sight reminded her of a volcanic eruption played in reverse, the fleshy mountainside tightening to obscure its molten core. The atomic bomb crater of her anus collapsed in on itself, clenching hard as the tremors of orgasm rumbled below the surface. Seismic vibrations tore the land in half, the chasm of her cunt parting to unleash a deluge of creamy white magma.

"Holy shiiiiiit," Lena hissed as she bent forward in her seat. She clasped her hand over her pussy and squeezed tightly, her hips jerking as she came. Warmth spilled into her cupped palm. Her teeth ground together above her chin laid flat against the desk and tears blurred her vision of the massive whitewater torrent splashing across the screen. She continued to watch the video for the remainder of its duration, silently marveling at every subtle twitch and contraction, every ejected drop of milky-clear fluid. When it was over, she brought a shaky hand to her lips and sucked each finger clean. She'd come so hard the spasms were actually painful, and the singular thought dominating her consciousness was how badly she wanted to feel that exquisite pain again and again. Her mind grew overpopulated with lurid fantasies, leaving no room for the smallest trace of shame.

The movement of the screensaver returned her attention to the laptop. She reopened the video inside her editing software, made a few crucial adjustments, and saved the file as SQUIRT_SLOWMO_01.MOV. Next, she pulled up a new window and began typing into a search engine.

Lena knew what she'd just watched would never fly on YourTube. That was fine by her. There were, after all, other websites that would be more receptive to such imagery—sites that, based on what she'd heard, could be considerably more generous when it came to compensating users for their contributions. A toothy smile spread across her face as she looked over the homepage of one such site.

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Lena's grin widened. It never ceased to amaze her what someone could get away with in the name of science.