Phase Zero Clinical Trial: Response To Hypnozamine In The Human Female
by B Pascal
Chapter 14
I remember getting in the car and arriving home, but not the time spent driving. I think this was because I was reviewing all the things we’d done last night in my mind. Daydreaming. Probably not a good attitude to have while driving, but I made it home without accidents or near misses.
I dropped my shoes on the floor and lay back on the bed and was out within a minute. I guess I needed the nap. It was early afternoon when I woke again. I took another shower, then rummaged in the fridge for something to eat.
The day was pretty much shot, I thought, because even with the nap my whole body felt exhausted. So I started a book I’d been meaning to read and hoped I’d feel better tomorrow.
I did. On Sunday when I awoke I felt considerably better, even energetic. Inspired by coffee and some breakfast I resolved to pick up my exercise where I’d last left off, on my bicycle.
Yes, I know, but you can never be too muscular. So I pulled the bike back out of the storage area in the basement, and headed off to the bike path downtown.
And it actually was a bit easier than last time. It was a nice day so I took it easy and enjoyed the weather and did some people watching. I put in a couple of hours on the bike and decided to take a break only when my legs started feeling a little sore.
I was near the pedestrian mall which was lined with small and medium-sized shops, so I went there. I chained my bike to a handy bike rack and had an ice cream cone, then saw one of the chain bookstores and decided to go in and browse. I’d had a book on my I-should-read-that list and thought I’d look for it.
But I got distracted, and found a new book by a famous biologist on the potential for synthetic life forms and its pros and cons and its ethics, and sat down in a window seat to browse through it. I’d browsed so intently I was a hundred pages into it when a voice pulled me out of my preoccupation.
“Are you stalking me now?”
I jumped and looked up. Liz was standing nearby with a plastic bag in hand and a mischievous smile.
“Wait. How do I know you’re not stalking me, Writer Woman?“
“Point taken. Okay, we’ll call it a draw. What are you doing here?”
“Out riding my bike, and decided to come in and buy a book I’d been meaning to read, but got distracted by this,” I said, holding up the book.
“I see. Looks interesting, thought-provoking. What was the one you came in for originally?”
I told her, and she said she’d read it recently and found it enjoyable.
“And you? Did you have a mission as well, or was this just an afternoon of idle browsing?”
“An old favorite,” she said, and pulled out a copy of Strunk & White’s The Elements Of Style. “My old copy got so dog-eared it was hardly usable any more, so I decided to splurge on a new edition.“
“Can’t go wrong with that,” I said.
I was a little distracted because this was the first time I’d seen her dressed in something other than her conservative work clothes, and it was making my heart beat a little faster. I should have been immune, having been thoroughly drained by an intense twelve hours of sex with Maria, but damn!
She had on casual slacks that were just a bit tight in the butt, and a short-sleeve pullover top that did nothing to downplay her chest. Her work clothes had always been chosen so as to deemphasize her upper torso, so the rest of us could only speculate at what was there. But this, well, it covered everything up to the neck, but the front made a decisively emphatic statement.
“Are you wrapped up in that or do you want to join me for a snack?” she asked.
I thought it was nice of her to phrase it as a request. She could have just wiggled her little finger and said, “Follow me, peon,” and I would have trailed behind her, happily carrying her bags.
I didn’t want to play easy-to-get, so I asked if she’d mind waiting till I found the book I came in for. She nodded, and asked if she could look at the one I held while I found the other one. So I handed it to her and went off to get the other one, easy enough to locate because it was on a display table.
I paid for it and we went outside. “What do you have in mind?” I asked. “I just had ice cream, my substitute for a healthy lunch.”
“I suppose that can be forgiven on a day like this. Oh, there’s a place I like, and they’ve got outside tables, too.” She pointed a little ways down the pedestrian mall, so we went there. On the way, I could sense rather than see male heads turning to follow her as we passed.
We were seated and given menus. I ordered a BLT and she got a salad, and we both got iced tea. I looked at her for a moment.
“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you out of the work environment. You look different. I don’t mean how you’re dressed, I mean you don’t look so focused, so official, you’re more relaxed.”
“Well, isn’t that the point of weekends, to help us relax and get ready for another five days of typing and printing emails.”
I had to smile at that. I knew there was more to her job, but that was the thing everybody sympathized with her about.
“So, has Schwartz never really taken a basic computer course, like how to use email?”
“Oh, sure he has, but he always walks out before the end of it, saying that he’s needed urgently back at the office. The truth is he’s a technophobe, it terrifies him, so he declares himself above it so he won’t have to deal with it.”
“I hope he’s really, really good at the other parts of his job, because this makes him sound like a real prima donna. Wait, can you apply that term to a male?“
“Don’t know, but, yeah, he is. And between you and me, I don’t think he’s very good at it, just good enough to keep his position.”
The conversation moved back to books and writing, and she told me she’d spent a good part of yesterday rewriting the parts I had commented on, and thought they read better. I was certain that was true, given the changes she’d made based on my earlier comments. I was looking forward to seeing how she’d handled it.
We talked a bit about how authors get inspiration, ideas for a book, and the mental process of putting the parts together before she actually sat down at a keyboard. She shared how difficult that often was, and the elation she felt when she was finally able to start the writing.
She brought the discussion around to science and creativity, and how it was like and unlike the art of writing, asking me how I’d gotten into science. We debated the common aspects of the two vocations while we finished our lunch.
I paid the bill and she didn’t care for the idea of my paying for her meal, so in the end she paid the tip and we felt that neither had taken advantage of the other. I think she just didn’t want it to feel too much like a “date”. Okay, so we each stepped away with our pride intact.
“It was nice to run into you, Sam. And this is the first time I’ve seen you outside of work, too, now that I think about it. This was fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She gave a little wave and walked away. I couldn’t help but watch her leave. Along with most of the other men present. Jesus, look at that ass.
Monday, and back to the grind. I found Art and Ted had arrived early and were going over the results of their experiment, sounding excited.
Something had happened to my experiment over the weekend and I was not getting the results I had expected. It looked like the apparatus had gotten contaminated somehow, affecting the sample. I would have to clean it thoroughly and start again. I spent the rest of the morning doing that.
Ted and Art had agreed on what they were going to write up for Clark, and emailed him a short report. Sometime after that, Clark came into the lab and huddled with the two of them, talking back and forth. At the end, Clark nodded thoughtfully and—I can’t swear to this, but I’m pretty sure he did say it—told them they’d done good work. They looked like they’d been hit on the head with a Louisville Slugger. Stunned.
Because my experiment had gotten fouled, I spent the morning catching up. I got a sandwich from the cafeteria and brought it back to the lab so I could continue working. Sometime after 1:30 I made the final adjustments and started the apparatus over again. I hoped I’d cleaned out whatever had contaminated it. I made some notes and comments in my log to help me isolate whatever was affecting it.
Around two I checked my email and found nothing that wouldn’t wait, so I decided to go to the cafeteria and have the rest of my lunch. Feeling virtuous, I got a small salad, but I also got pie and coffee.
I was reading a journal article, so I sensed it rather than saw it. The conversation level in the cafeteria dropped off. I raised an eye from my reading and saw Liz coming in the door from the hall.
She had on a conservative business suit, but it ended above the knee and was tight across the hips, showing off the legs and her butt. The jacket was buttoned, but rather than a straight line from the button to the collar, it described a gentle arc because of the bulge underneath it. I couldn’t imagine her going anywhere without guys hitting on her. It must be unrelenting.
She saw me and smiled, and detoured to the serving station. She brought back a cup of tea and a bowl of cherry Jello topped with whipped cream. I looked at it.
“That’s pretty decadent. Did you fall off the wagon?”
“Aside from the whipped cream, this has almost no calories. So there. I’m glad to see you’re eating healthier, however. But if you’re eating salad, who’s the pie for?”
“I planned on giving it to the first homeless person I come across. It’s my good deed for the day.”
She smirked and took a small spoonful of Jello. She made a sound and raised a finger in the air, then reached into her bag and pulled out another large manila envelope.
“Almost forgot, this is the revised version of what you looked at last week, along with a new chapter. I want to know what you think about the changes. Does it flow better? Do the characters make sense? That kind of thing.”
I took it and nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. Y’know, people hardly ever get to see the development process for a novel, how it changes, mutates over time. This is really interesting to see how you do this. I was thinking about this the other day, how it’s like watching a surgeon work, moving one thing out of the way to repair something else, and then making sure everything goes back in place and still works.”
I think maybe she blushed just a bit, can’t be sure. She said, “Thank you, Sam. My mother always wanted me to become a doctor. I wonder if this counts?”
“Call me if you need me to stand up for you. My mother wanted me to be a doctor, too, but an M.D. not a Ph.D. She accepted my degree a little grudgingly, I thought. She likes bragging about me to her friends.”
“As well she should,” she said. “I’m not sure I could do what you do.”
“I think I said one time before that you’re analytical, watching, seeing how things work. I think you’d have made a good scientist.”
“Maybe. I was more of an artsy poet type in high school, and though I liked the science courses I took in college, I perhaps didn’t have the focus necessary to learn the fundamentals.”
“At any rate, Liz, you’re good at what you do and I think it will work out fine. Life’s about enjoying your work and hoping to leave something with lasting impact, whether it’s science or art or writing, or becoming the best dentist in Cleveland.”
She chuckled at that. Dental humor is always a sure bet.
“Okay,” she said, “if writing doesn’t pan out, there’s always dental school.” She started to get up. “Gotta go. Nice to see you yesterday. Oh, I forgot to mention that Schwartz is taking vacation time starting later this week. Almost two weeks, I think, to The Bahamas with the missus.”
“I’m betting he cuts it short because he’s needed urgently back at the office.”
She laughed out loud, and heads turned at the wonder of it. I could almost see the gears turning, “How did he get her to laugh like that?”
“Maybe, but I think Mrs. Schwartz will have a knife at his throat before he starts to pack a suitcase. I’ve met her. She is not to be trifled with.”
“This sounds like a match made in heaven. Does he have a picture of the two of them on his desk? I’d love to see what she looks like. And if they look happy.”
“I think so. If he actually does leave for vacation, I’ll sneak you into his office for a peek. See you later.”
I spent a few moments watching her leave, then packed up my own stuff and headed back to the lab.
Art and Ted were again consulting, heads together. After I had spent a few minutes at my desk, Art asked me to join them.
“So here’s where we are. I had designed something that would hook into the opiate receptors, pretty standard stuff, though the way I went about it was new. And based on the tests it binds pretty well, but it lost its adhesion after maybe twelve hours. Not good.
“But Ted, genius that he is, saw that what he’d been working on might be tweaked so that it worked symbiotically, making the adhesion longer lasting, in fact longer than any of the currently approved opiate blockers.”
“Wow, that’s a big step, guys, congratulations.”
“Thanks. So what we’ve got, in theory, is something that will block opiates from interacting with the brain, but it won’t reduce the cravings, the need, the withdrawal, and without that it’s just Frustration City for the addict. So next step is to find something we can build into it that will reduce those cravings for as long as the adhesion lasts.”
Art went on, saying, “If we can do that—a big if—then we’ve maybe got something that’s a big step forward in addiction treatment. Any ideas?“
I had nothing off the top of my head, but said I’d put some thought into it. I wandered back to my area. So far my experiment seemed to be working okay, but it had only been a couple of hours. I’d feel more confident about it at the 72-hour mark.
Later that evening I read Liz’s latest, and the changes she’d made were almost seamless, I thought, and made the whole narrative seem to coast along and also cleared up some ambiguity about the characters.
And the new chapter hinted at some interesting developments that actually made me a bit hungry for the next installment. I decided to wait before returning it so I could jot down some additional thoughts.
I had put Art’s question about how to proceed next in the back of my mind, and I could feel it fermenting, but it wasn’t a finished product yet.
The next day, after work, as I was leaving a drugstore after replenishing some shaving supplies, I ran into Annie, who saw me and looked a little guilty. But having seen me noticing her seeing me, she couldn’t just turn away.
We exchanged pleasantries, and I asked her how she’d been doing, and if the breakup had been as awkward as she’d thought it was going to be. She hemmed and hawed and finally admitted that she’d caved. He was stricken when she asked him to leave, said he loved her, that he hadn’t realized he’d been such a dick and he’d change, he promised, so she caved.
“And has he changed, Annie?”
“Well, he’s still obsessed about biking, but he hasn’t criticized my commitment and mostly has refrained from comments on my diet and the like. So...”
She let it trail off, trying to exude hope and positivity. It sounded more like wishful thinking. But it’s her life, she’ll have to work it out. I told her I was happy to see her and wished her the best.
I walked off thinking that I doubted the truce would last. Guys like that seldom change, because they’re zealots, convinced of the righteousness of their cause, and I didn’t think he’d be able to live for long with someone who didn’t share his zealotry.
Nuts, the errand and meeting Annie had thrown off my schedule and now I thought it was too late to thaw something from the freezer for dinner. It’d have to be takeout. I looked around and saw the usual fallback takeout places and tonight not one of them rang my chimes.
Maybe there, I haven’t tried that Japanese place, provided they do takeout. I went over and looked at a menu in the window. Yes, they do! Okay, I like Japanese food, so this’ll be different from the usual.
At the counter I perused the menu and ordered shrimp tempura, gyoza and miso soup to go. I could feel my mouth watering already. Why hadn’t I done this before?
A woman came in and went up to the counter, saying she was here for the order she’d phoned in. There were some confused looks behind the counter as they scurried about looking here and there. The cashier came back, looking abjectly apologetic and spoke quietly to the woman, who raised her eyes to the heavens, then finally nodded.
She came over and plopped down next to me in the small waiting area for takeout customers. “Did they lose your order, too?” she asked.
“No, I just placed mine. Wait, how did they lose your order?”
“If I believe them, it was mistakenly sent out with the bicycle delivery driver. I was starved, too, and really looking forward to this. Anyway, they’re making me a new order from scratch and giving me half off the price for the inconvenience.”
“So there’s a bright side. Good for you.”
She introduced herself as Amy, chatting away in a friendly way to pass the time while her order was prepared. Mid-thirties, if I were to guess, blond hair cut in a kind of a page boy, green eyes, trim with good legs, smallish chest, good muscle tone. She shared that she was a little too lazy to cook for herself when her husband was away, so she usually ordered takeout those times.
“He travels a lot, technical consulting, so I wind up eating out a lot. It alleviates the boredom of staying home and watching TV or movies.”
She asked what I did, and I told her.
“So, do you and your significant other do a lot of takeout? You’re not both gourmet chefs?”
I said I wasn’t married, nor living with someone, and certainly not any kind of chef. I admired how slickly she elicited the information from me. She continued talking, telling me the kinds of restaurants she liked, and asking what kinds of foods I preferred. She turned toward me so that her knee was touching mine and she could look more easily at me.
We spent about fifteen minutes chatting—well, it was mostly her doing the talking, trying to keep me interested—and the cashier came up to the register with two bags and called out our names.
“Finally!” said Amy, and hopped up. We each paid and headed to the door.
“Listen, Sam, if you’ve got nobody you’re headed home to, how would you feel about sharing your meal and continuing the conversation? It certainly beats another episode of The Bachelor on TV.“
“Almost anything does. But I’m really hungry. If this involves a long drive, then I’ll probably pass.”
“No more than five minutes, and I’ll drive. What do you say?”
So I caved, and she led me to a parking lot behind the restaurant, and a late-model, pretty high end car. We put the food in the trunk, and she headed off. She was a good driver, I noted, confident and easy. She talked about her interests, the interests she shared with her husband, how long they’d lived there, and so on.
And sure enough, in less than five minutes, she pulled into a garage under an apartment building, punched a code into the key lock, and the gates opened. It was only a few steps from there to the elevator which went right up to her floor.
It seemed like a very well-kept building, fairly new and well built. When she unlocked the door to her apartment, I saw that I hadn’t been wrong. It was classy and expensive. Technical consulting apparently paid very well.
“We’ll eat in there,” she said, pointing. “I’ll get some plates.”
In short order there were plates, bowls, glasses, forks and chopsticks on the table. We ripped open our respective bags, and for some minutes did not speak, until we had taken the edge off our appetites. She had seated me at the table end, and she just to my right, turned ninety degrees.
So here’s the thing about scientists. The public stereotype is that they are microscopically focused on their field of study, ignoring everything on the outside unless it affects their research. Not true, in general. Scientists are observers, cataloging things, watching, comparing them to other similar events or specimens.
So while she was talking I was noticing the deviation from “normal” social interaction. Amy was using the food seductively, caressing it with her mouth, letting me see how sensual it was to her, touching it with her tongue. It was supposed to be subtle, and in fact most men probably would not have noticed it directly, but would have responded to it.
I pretended I hadn’t noticed, and asked her what she did for work, how she occupied her days with her husband away so much. She admitted that she had worked for awhile in “public relations”, though she wasn’t specific, but gave up the job when it ceased to be fulfilling.
The bottom line, I assumed, was that she now did nothing at all. Well, good for hubby, if she spent her days shopping or lounging in this expensive apartment. Technical consulting apparently paid really well, and he was willing to indulge her.
She was talking again, and had turned more toward me, so our feet were touching. She brought the conversation around to relationships. She asked if I were seeing someone regularly, and I admitted that I had no one special person at the moment. She went on to talk about herself and her husband, who decided to get married because they shared a common view of life and relationships.
“That’s rather an open-ended description,” I said. “Do you have specific beliefs in common, religious or political?”
“No, we’re not really religious, nor are we politically involved. We believe that life is short, and we have to sample the experiences it presents us. Like Japanese food, which I never cared for when I was younger, but he showed me how the subtle mixtures of texture and color and taste made it unique, and now I appreciate it.
“And we also believe that, while we are committed to one another, we can sometimes enrich our lives by experiencing new people and new... sensations, and later sharing those experiences with our partners. That sharing is what makes us feel like we belong together, even if we have to be apart so often.”
She looked at me, trying to determine if she’d gotten through without being too direct.
“If I understand you, you’re describing what used to be called ’an open marriage’, or possibly polyamory.”
“Not unlike those things, but ours is more of a, let’s call it co-dependent existence. It is not enough to... experience new people, but we also share the details of it with our partner, so that the other gets to experience it vicariously. We are very open with one another, and the retelling of an... encounter can be very stimulating when we’re together.”
I took another gyoza and chewed it while I thought about this. I’d heard of people like this, in the same way that I’d heard of swinging or nudism, but I’d never met anyone who practiced it, at least that they’d admitted to me. I couldn’t imagine being in a relationship like that, but that was me, and I tried not to be judgmental about others who embraced it.
I looked her in the eye and asked her straight out, “Am I to be one of your new experiences, Amy?”
“If you’d like. I find you attractive and I suspect you know your way around, and since you’re not currently involved with someone, it seems to be a win-win all around. What do you think?”
I thought she was attractive and sexy, and I was finding it difficult to think of a reason not to. Except... I really couldn’t explain why, but there was something bothering me in the way she’d phrased the explanation, about the sharing. Still, she was pretty hot, and I had nothing planned tonight.
I told her, “I think I’m tempted. I hesitate only because I have a rule about being with married women, because it can cause a lot of pain in a marriage. I made the rule because it happened in my extended family, and I saw the results first hand. It’s not something I’d inflict on someone.”
“I can respect that, Sam. I’d hate for that to happen, too, which is why I asked whether you were in a relationship or seeing someone regularly. And in my case, both he and I have agreed that this works for us.”
I nodded. “It’s a little weird, but if that’s the agreement you have, then I’m comfortable that I wouldn’t cause any stress in your relationship.”
She smiled brightly. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that. Do you want to move into another room?”
I still wanted to think about this a little longer, so I said, “Actually, I’m still a little hungry. Let me finish my meal first. We can talk in the meantime.”
So she continued to chatter, going on about how liberating their lives were, and how she wished others could see how rewarding it was.
Scientists insist on telling the public that their research is based entirely on logic and the accumulation of facts. Not quite true. Sometimes that’s not enough, and the scientist follows hunches and sees where it leads. That’s where I was. I ostensibly had all the facts and my logic had led me to the decision about taking Amy to bed.
However, my hunch was there was something I’d missed here. And I guessed she’d been careful to omit that thing from the conversation, the ’facts’ she’d presented. So I couldn’t count on her to tell me the truth. But I had an ace in the hole.
“Let’s bring these into the kitchen,” I said, “and then you can show me the rest of your place.”
She smiled again. “Okay, that sounds great.”
We collected the plates and empty containers, and brought them into the kitchen. I piled my stack onto the counter. As she put her load down in the sink, I asked, “May I use your bathroom?”
She waved a hand, saying, “Of course. Just down the hall on your right,” and when she turned back to the sink I gave one quiet spray over her shoulder from the aerosol in the palm of my hand.
I used the restroom, because I did need to, and then returned to the kitchen. She was still standing at the sink, contemplating the backsplash.
“Hi, Amy. How do you feel? You look a little lost.”
“I’m fine. Just a bit of a pleasant afterglow from the meal, I think.”
“Good. I enjoyed it as well, and being here with you, too. What are you thinking will happen next?”
“I’m going to show you the apartment and then my bedroom, then I’m going to fuck you.”
Well, a no-nonsense woman. No romance, dim lights and scented candles for her.
“That sounds exciting,” I said, “and I’m really looking forward to it. Amy, tell me more about how you share these experiences with your husband. What happens?”
“Normally, when he gets back he’ll ask me for a list of who I’ve fucked, names if I have them, and then he’ll tell me the ones he’s done on his trip. Then we’ll make drinks and sit down, and he’ll ask for details about each one, what they were like, were they good fucks, and so on. Then he’ll tell me about his.
“Then we’ll go into the bedroom and get naked and lie on the bed and watch the videos. If he was able to get videos of his, we’ll watch those, too.”
“Amy, you make videos of your encounters?”
“Yes. We have a hidden camera setup in the bedroom, and the lighting’s good, so it’s like watching porn, except we’re the actors.”
“That sounds kind of hot, Amy. Where are the cameras?”
“There’s only one in the painting above the bed, but it’s a really good angle.”
“And where is the recording equipment?”
“It’s in the back of my closet behind a panel.”
“Amy, you’re feeling really relaxed now, it’s very pleasant to just stand here and listen to the silence. Wait here until I return, please.”
She nodded absently. I went off and searched until I found what looked like the main bedroom, and a closet filled with women’s things. In the back there was a shoe storage rack on the wall, and looking carefully I could see a piano hinge along one side. I pushed on the opposite side of the rack and heard a click, and the panel swung back toward me.
I pulled it open and there it was in an electronics rack. A monitor, a control panel, a hard drive recorder, and a DVR drive. I powered down all of them, then closed the shoe rack and returned to the kitchen.
“Amy, have you noticed how your skin is getting more sensitive now as you anticipate what’s going to happen later? It’s almost like getting zapped by static electricity, except it’s a shock of pleasure, not electricity. Do you feel it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’ll touch you now and you’ll feel it.” I reached over and laid my fingers on her wrist.
“Oh, my God! Wow! That’s remarkable.”
“Yes, I feel it, too. And have you noticed that your nipples are getting really hard and very sensitive, and that your pussy is tingling and damp?”
She raised a hand and felt her breast and caught her breath. “It’s usually not that sensitive. I wonder why?”
“Maybe it’s because we have a chemistry together, that’s what I feel. And I know that when I lick your nipples or rub your pussy or stick my tongue in your asshole, you’re going to feel yourself getting more and more aroused, feeling better and better, and so close to cumming that you almost can’t wait.
“And when I lick your clit or finger fuck you, you’ll cum with a wonderful slow orgasm that will feel so good and leave you feeling happy and wanting more. And if I stick something in your ass like a dildo or fingers, you’ll have a different type of orgasm, a warm glow that will spread from your ass through your body, washing over it, leaving you feeling really slutty but satisfied.
“And Amy, when I do fuck your pussy or your ass, you’ll get so aroused that it will bring you right to the edge, so desperate to cum that you’ll do anything to get it, you’ll beg me for it. But you won’t cum, Amy, until I say to you ’cum for me’. What are the words you’ll be listening for, Amy?”
“They’re ’cum for me’.”
“That’s right, and as soon as you hear them you’ll cum hard, it will wash over making you feel breathless and so wonderful, happy and relaxed and filled with bliss. You won’t recall that I said it to you, but you’ll know just what to do when you hear me say it.”
Her eyes were starting to move more now, so I didn’t have much time left.
“Amy, when I say the word ’gyoza’ to you, you will block out all the sensations and stimuli around you, and will hear my voice alone, nothing else. And you will want to do what I tell you because it makes you feel good when you do that. And when I clap my hands, you will awake again and remember nothing of what we said, but you will still do the things we talked about, as if you had thought of them yourself. Can you do that, Amy? What’s the word you’ll be listening for?”
“The word ’gyoza’.”
“That’s right, Amy. Now, Amy, tell me your fantasies. What are the things you like guys to do to you? What makes you really hot?”
“I like when guys talk dirty to me, when they call me slut and whore, and make me do things, grabbing me, pulling my hair, like that. That gets me hot, and sometime makes me cum.”
“What else, Amy?”
“I like when it hurts sometimes. I like when guys cum on my face and my tits, especially if it’s more than one guy. That makes me cum.”
Is it just me? Do I attract this type of woman? It seemed to me that I’d gotten more than my share of women who wanted to be abused and demeaned and mistreated. Not really my thing, though I was pretty sure she could find any number of guys who’d love to do that to her. Oh, well, better to know than not know.
I could see her taking in her surroundings now, trying to remember where she was. She was almost back, so I collected the cardboard containers from the takeout and waited till she turned.
“Where’s your trash? Where do I put these?”
She had to shake her head for a moment, then said, “Oh, you’ll find a trash can in that closet. Most of that should probably go in the recycling bin beside it.”
I did that, and when I closed the closet door, she smiled at me, having remembered who I was and why I was here. “Thanks for doing that,” she said. “Want to see the rest of the place?”
I said yes, and she gave me the tour. They must have been really well off. The furniture was very expensive, high quality rugs on the floor, some serious art on the walls. I was beginning to think it was not just hubby’s salary that maintained them. I wondered if they perhaps had family money to assist in maintaining their style of living.
But I had no more time to ponder, because she grabbed my hand and pulled me along, saying, “This is my favorite room, ’cause this is where I relax and zone out.” This was the room I had just visited with the big bed, the shoe rack in the closet and the now nonfunctional camera over the bed. It must be activated by a hidden switch. I’d watch her to check.
“Like it?” she asked.
“Very impressive, and certainly a nice place to relax. I could just imagine flopping down on that bed and drifting off.”
“Well, don’t be formal! Give it a try!” She gave me a little nudge toward the bed. If she were any less subtle, there would be a baseball bat involved.
So I lay down on the bed and made appreciative noises. She took a running leap and landed beside me with a laugh. “I knew you’d like it,” she exclaimed, as she reached up and fiddled with something on the headboard.
She rolled onto her side and threw an arm over me. “I see there’s still a little tension there, Sam. Let me see what I can do to help you relax.”
She got her head close to mine, then leaned in for a long kiss with some tongue. “Feeling better?” she inquired.
“Distinctly better. You know what might help further?”
I snaked an arm under her and pulled her on top of me so she was lying above me. I reached down with both hands and started squeezing the cheeks of her ass while I went in search of her tongue again. She squirmed into me, apparently now fully invested in the process.
Her hips and pelvis were twisting now, pushing into me, and doing a number on my dick. I got my hands a little lower on her butt cheeks and into the crack and she gasped.
“Damn, you don’t waste any time, do you?”
“I thought we’d come to an agreement on what was going to happen. You want to get fucked and I’m going to get you there, right?”
“Okay, you’re right. It’s just that I’m a little more turned on than I usually am at this stage, and it took me by surprise. But this is good, let’s do some more of that.”
Yes, I was a little horny, and yes, she was an attractive woman, but on some level I was a bit annoyed at being manipulated and used as a sex toy for the later gratification of Amy and her husband. Especially since the videotaping was non-consensual.
If it were done to a woman (as I presumed her husband did on his trips) people would be angered, even furious, at the invasion of privacy. But Amy felt that she could do that to me since it was her place and then share it with her husband. Illegal and unethical and immoral. So I was less inclined to treat her as an equal partner and more like an antagonist. And yes, while I was pontificating about morality, I was aware of the irony of my having used the hypnozamine on her.
“No, you know what? I’d like to see you naked. Let’s take care of that.”
“Why are you in such a rush? We’ll get there.”
“I’m a bit tired of Miss Coy and I want to see your naked ass on the bed. Strip. Now.”
“Sam, slow down. I’d like to draw this out a bit.”
I took one of the turn-ons she’d mentioned, grabbed a fistful of hair, and pulled her head back, looking her right in the eyes.
“Amy, this isn’t romance, this is fucking, plain and simple. I want to fuck you. You want to get fucked. I want you naked now. Do it, bitch, or I walk now. I have no time for coquettes. What’s it gonna be?”
There was a flutter of fear in her eyes. Damn if she wasn’t getting off on this! I know she’d said she did, but the reality was different.
She stood up slowly and took a step back to give herself room. She pulled off the short-sleeve top and tossed it on a chair. The shoes she was wearing she kicked off and under the chair. She was still watching me as she unzipped her pants and let them fall to the floor.
She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. “Bra and panties, Amy. You’re wasting time.”
While she unsnapped her bra and pulled it off I was working on my shirt. I tossed it on the floor, then sat on the bed to pull off my shoes. She hooked her thumbs in her panties and slid them over her hips and onto the floor.
“Not bad, Amy. Nice body, firm, you stay in good shape. Turn around, let’s see your ass.”
I pulled off my pants and my shorts as she turned, and I dropped them on the floor, too.
“Tight little ass, Amy. I like it. Bend over at the waist, put your hands on the chair. Show me your ass.”
Interestingly, the self-confidence she’d had up till now, the sense of belonging, her poise, seemed to be evaporating. She was looking for approval, from me, because she saw me as someone in control who really didn’t like her, so she was becoming obedient and pliable, accepting that she was going to be abased.
How strange the different personas that some people had stored within. This one was completely unlike the first one I’d seen.
She was bent at the waist now, showing me her butt, which was quite nice, very firm, on the small side.
“Amy, reach back and pull your ass cheeks apart. Let me see your pussy and your butthole.”
She never even hesitated. She had become the pliable slut she wanted to be treated like.
Her fingers grabbed her cheeks and pulled, still bent at the waist. Her asshole was quite small, wrinkled and brown, and her pussy was damp, I could see. There was a little stubble from where she had shaved it.
I stepped behind her and put a hand between her legs. “Are you wet, Amy? Damn, you are, you little slut, you’re wet thinking about getting your little cunt fucked, aren’t you?“
I slapped her ass cheek. “I asked you a question, Amy. You got wet thinking about being fucked, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
I took an open hand and rubbed her damp pussy and she moaned. “Christ, you’re about to get off, aren’t you, you little tramp, my hand on your cunt will have you squirting in a minute.” I slapped her pussy and she said, “Oh, fuck.”
My hand was actually a little slick now from her dripping cunt. I hadn’t really done much to her, this was all from me treating her like a slut and demeaning her. She got off on being treated like a tramp.
I slid one wet finger up her crack and over her asshole and pushed. It slipped in and she moaned and cried out, “Shit, YES, do that, I’m cumming.” I pushed it in and out a few times while her body shook.
When she stopped shaking, she said in a quiet voice, “More.”
I told her, with some surprise in my voice, “You got off like that with just my finger in your ass? What will happen if I stick my dick in there. Are you going to pass out, you little slut?“
I slapped her ass again, then a second time. “Turn around, Amy. Get on your knees and look at me.”
Now she was looking afraid. She was thinking that perhaps she had misjudged me and how I would behave, and she wasn’t sure if she liked this, or if she loved it.
Kneeling at my feet, I took her hair in both my hands to control her head, and pushed it back a bit so she was looking up at me.
“Jesus, you little whore, do you always get off so easy like that? Answer me.”
“No,” she gulped, “I don’t usually. I don’t know why, I just did.”
“Let’s see how good you are at taking instruction, Amy. I want you to show me how you suck dick. And I don’t want you to use your hands, just your mouth and your tongue. I want to see how much of this you can get down your throat. Do you suck cock, Amy?”
“Yes, sometimes.”
“Well, this is where you show me what you’ve learned. If you do a good job, I’ll treat you right. If you don’t I’ll teach you until you get it right. Understand?”
She nodded, barely, then extended her neck to get her lips around my dick, then slid her lips up and down a couple of inches.
“Is that it, Amy? Is that all you’ve got? And no tongue? Pathetic. Put some effort into it.“
She did start to move her tongue, but she should be doing better than this. She can’t be inexperienced. Unless...
“Stop, you worthless little cunt. You’re sucking dick like a thirteen-year old going down on her boyfriend for the first time. Open your mouth, c’mon, do it. Stick out your tongue.”
I took her head in my hands and placed my dick on her tongue. “This is how you give head, Amy. You open your mouth and take it all the way in, like this.”
I pushed my dick in, hitting the back of her throat, and left it there, with a couple of thrusts to force her head back. She was gagging a little now, so I took it out and she coughed.
“It goes all the way back, you move your tongue around, then you wrap your lips around it and suck while you slide it out, got it? Again.”
She opened her mouth, and this time I face-fucked her a bit, forcing her head down onto my dick.
“Close your lips around it, suck your cheeks in, this can’t be your first time. Do it or I’ll really fuck your throat.”
This was weird and I was finding it a little uncomfortable. She was almost forcing me to be the dominant, while she became the submissive. I didn’t much care for this, and it didn’t turn me on, but some part of me really wanted payback.
But she did close her lips and suck her cheeks in and it felt good. “Tongue, Amy, use your tongue.”
“Now, Amy, on your own, all the way in. I want to feel your head pushing my dick into your throat. You can do it.”
And this time, with almost no hesitation, she dropped down on my dick and pushed a bit, and I could feel her throat stretching. Then she closed her lips and sucked, while her tongue did a dance all the way up.
So she was no neophyte, she was playing a part so I would berate her and force her. She was getting off on the commands.
“Much better, Amy, we’ll turn you into a good cocksucker in no time. You’ll be sucking the cum out of me and you’ll swallow every drop and you’ll love it.”
I let her keep bobbing up and down on my cock and strangely, because I was angry at her, I was not feeling an orgasm building as I usually did when someone gave me head.
Finally I grabbed her head in two hands and pulled her off, saliva dripping down her chin. “It was a piss poor start, Amy, but you learned pretty well and it was good at the end. Now it’s your turn.”
I grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to a standing position and turned her around, back to the bed. I took her hair in my hand again—she seemed to really get off on that form of control—and twisted one nipple, hard.
“Sensitive, Amy? See how this feels.” I pushed her backwards and she fell onto the bed. I grabbed her legs and pulled her forward, sliding her over the blanket until her ass was at the edge of the bed.
I went to my knees and buried my face in her pussy, kissing and licking up and down, but avoiding her clit. I tongue-fucked her a little which got her gasping, then dropped my tongue onto her asshole, which got her shouting, begging for more and harder. So while I tongued her butthole I slapped her pussy and her clit, which brought her right to the edge, just as instructed.
“Yes, oh, yes, I’m so close, please, get me off, do it, Sam!”
I spread her pussy lips with two thumbs and licked my way up, making it dart side to side and around in circles, until she was half crazy, then licked at the top, just below the clit, for an unconscionably long time, while she grabbed my head and tried to pull me higher.
But I was bigger and stronger, so it was only when I wanted to that I moved the last half inch and found her clit. And when I did it was like a dam breaking. I hoped the building was as well constructed as I’d thought, with thick walls, because she screamed like she was on fire. I don’t think I’d ever met anyone who was half as loud as she was when she came.
Her hips were thrusting, and it was a bit uncomfortable for me with my lips being forced into my teeth, but I kept the tongue going as long as I could until she finally pushed me away with a strength that surprised me.
She was gasping for air, and she was making some kind of sound in her throat that might have been words. I started rubbing my open hand on her pussy lips, which were really wet now. Her eyes were darting here and there like some cornered animal looking for a route to escape.
I moved higher on the bed so I could suck on her nipples, which were apparently really sensitive now, because she moaned when I did it. I licked them, then took them between my teeth and pulled, and let them snap back. Each time I did that she’d say, “Oh, fuck.”
I slipped one hand lower, between her legs, and started lightly slapping her pussy again, now a decidedly wet sound. It must have still been sensitive, because she jumped a little at each slap.
I took her chin in one hand and turned her towards me, saying, “You’re an easy little slut, aren’t you? You get off every time somebody sticks something in any available hole. You like cumming, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said very quietly.
“I’ve gotta say, you’re fun to watch getting off, it kinda turns me on a little. Let’s do another one.”
“Oh, wait, too soon, I can’t.”
“Sure you can. Watch.”
I moved my hand lower and slipped two fingers into her cunt, then out again. “Oh, nonono, please.”
But I ignored her. Fingers sliding in and out. She was sensitive, but the commands said she’d cum with fingers in pussy, and it was rolling over her now. “Ohmigod, oh, Jesus, again!”
And as she came again, just as an experiment, I curved my fingers up onto her G-spot and started vibrating them, side to side, fast as I could. I wondered how it would affect the orgasm she was having.
With her, it seems, the answer was that she had a second, stronger one right after it that had her shouting again. Her upper torso shot up off the bed and she nearly caught me with a head butt as she screamed and her hips thrashed like a bronco until she suddenly collapsed onto the bed like the electricity had been cut off.
She may have passed out, or maybe a quick nap. In any case, her eyes were closed and she was motionless, except for her chest moving up and down as she breathed.
I took the opportunity to get up and stretch, then found my wallet and the condoms inside. I opened one and rolled it on. Out of curiosity I opened the side table drawer and found a couple of vibrators in designer colors, an enormous dildo, perhaps a plaster-cast from the Jolly Green Giant, and an Hitachi wand. And a bottle of lube. This must be her side of the bed.
I took the lube and put it nearby. She was still unconscious, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and I still had a hard-on that could hammer nails. I pondered the problem for a few moments, then said fuck it, if she doesn’t want to participate, so be it.
I took the lube, poured a few drops on her cunt and rubbed it in. She responded in her sleep, either trying to get away from the stimulation or to encourage it, I didn’t know and didn’t much care. A few more drops on the tip of my dick and I rubbed it all around, which felt pretty good.
Stepping off the bed I reached down under her thighs and lifted them up, raising her pussy opening, then leaned forward until the tip slipped in. She made some sort of sound, but seemed to still be asleep. I positioned myself then thrust my hips forward and buried my dick deep into her pussy.
That woke her up. Her eyes flew open and she looked almost terrified, like being ripped out of a dream. Then she saw what was happening, then the feelings hit her, then she started getting vocal.
“What the fuck. What are you doing? I can’t, not yet.”
“You’ve dragged this out for as long as I’m willing to wait, Amy. You’re a cock tease, but now it’s time to get fucked. You love dick, but you want it on your terms. Not while I’m here. You wanted to be fucked, now you’re gonna get fucked.”
Again, that strange thing was happening, she had me so angry at her that I wasn’t feeling that increasing sense of arousal that I usually got when my dick was sliding deep into a warm pussy. I maintained my erection and kept driving it into her.
“It’s too sensitive, Sam, I haven’t cum this many times so close together, it’s almost too much. Wait.”
“No. I’m gonna pound your cunt until I shoot my load. And you’re gonna cum so many times you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”
She actually struggled a little, but finally gave in to it, and I could see her breathing change, getting faster, her eyes closing. I leaned further forward, forcing her legs back toward her head, hammering almost straight down into her pussy.
Her mouth was open now, grunting, and just because I could, I said, “Cum for me, Amy.”
Her eyes flew open and her head raised off the bed, and she wailed, one word held out for about five seconds. “Yeeeesssssss!”
Her head fell back to the bed, her eyes and mouth still open, and me still slamming my cock into her twat. I was feeling the need to get this over soon, as my legs were getting tired, and I had a bit of a backache.
She had started a soft mantra underneath me, “Ohno, ohno, ohno.”
Hah! And there it was, off in the distance, my orgasm, loping in to the finish line. It was moving slowly, kind of a gentle canter, but it’d get there in time.
So I fucked her some more. I picked her up under her hips and raised her off the bed, so her back was arched. Not good for my back, but right now I kind of liked the dominance aspect of it.
“Amy, how was your last orgasm, did ya like it? Felt good? Tell me.”
She looked a little shell shocked, and I had to ask her again, and she said, “I came so hard, it was really good, but I don’t think I can do another.”
Oh, yeah, you can, you just don’t know it yet.
“I’m getting close now, Amy, you’re going to help me get there. Squeeze my dick with your pussy when I’m pushing in, c’mon, milk it, you little slut, make me cum.”
I’ll give it to her, she made the effort, I could feel her cunt grabbing at me and it felt great, and I was getting really close.
“Fuck, Amy, your tight little cunt is gonna make me cum, and I’m going to paint your face with it. I hope you like it, because you’re going to have cum everywhere in a minute.”
I gave it another half minute at best, so with my dick hammering her pussy and her back arched off the bed, I looked at her, her eyes half closed, and said, “You little tramp, you’re about ready for another one, so cum for me.”
It was a kind of desperate wail, almost a call for help, “Oh, God, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, yesyesyes, oh fuck, yes!”
I think the rush of watching her get off so intensely pushed me over the edge and I could feel mine coming up from deep below. I pulled my dick out of her and, as gently as I could, dropped her ass onto the bed.
Jumping onto the bed I kneed my way up toward her face, pulled off the condom and jacked off my dick until I felt it rising. She was still in the midst of her orgasm, her eyes closed and her mouth open, gasping and moaning, when the first spurts came flying out.
“Oh, fuck yeah, here it is, you little cumslut, all over your face. Open your mouth and swallow it.”
It didn’t last that long, they never do, it just seems like a long time by our internal clocks. I managed to drop a fairly sizeable load onto her face and hair. One rope drooped over her eye, and she had some pooling in her mouth. She still seemed to be unaware that I’d just cum on her face.
I leaned forward and got the tip of my dick in her mouth and she responded instinctively, sucking the tip, which felt really nice. That actually seemed to wake her up, because she opened her eyes and saw a dick in her mouth, then tasted the cum there, then realized that there was a rope on her eye. She cleaned that off with a finger and sucked it into her mouth.
I couldn’t help myself. I looked at her and said, “That’s a good look for you, Amy. Cumslut. Hot. Suck it some more.”
It was interesting to watch her, she still coming down from her orgasm, breathing fast, her body still trembling, and me coming off mine, her tongue working on my now very sensitive cock. I took it for as long as I could, then had to pull out of her mouth and lie down.
She lay there for several minutes, with me fighting sleep, then she pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked at me, assessing me in some way. Finally, she pushed herself off the bed and stumbled off to the bathroom. When she came back, face now scrubbed, she crawled onto the bed very carefully and inserted herself in the crook of my arm, careful not to disturb me. We were both quiet.