1 comments/ 66468 views/ 5 favorites Experimental Ethics Ch. 01 By: RisiaSkye ** Chapter One: Meeting the Makers ** Doctor Denise Moore nodded to Drs. Navarre and Amanpour as they entered the lab together. "Ready to do it?" she rushed on from the ambiguous question, too excited to wait for an answer. "William, um...Mr. Cromwell, should be calling us in any minute now. We'd better get ready to head up there!" Her voice betrayed her eagerness. Victor Navarre grinned as he gathered files and video tapes. Neda Amanpour, catching his eye, smiled back at him, mischief making her dark eyes sparkle. Both knew they wouldn't be showing all the footage, in fact, they wouldn't be showing their best evidence. The human phase of testing wasn't yet approved, so showing the 60+ hours of tape they'd shot of dozens of people having increasingly fevered sexual encounters would have been career suicide at minimum--and that was if they were lucky. But, ethical hair-splitting be damned--all three scientists were hot on the trail of true power, control over sexual pleasure, and none of them could ultimately resist the path of temptation, not after all they'd seen in and around the lab during development. That kind of success is its own aphrodisiac, its own temptation to chase secret knowledge, and one that the team couldn't resist. Dreams don't come true very often. Cromwell's deep voice floated out from a wall intercom. "Alright, my Dream Team. We're ready for you in the boardroom." In a muted voice he added, "Knock 'em dead, kiddos," making the trio groan with his attempt at a joke; he was only 33--only six years older than Neda, the youngest of the core team. Science, after all, is increasingly pioneered by the young. With the accelerating pace of technological innovation and change, the median age for top-flight Research & Development teams had been dropping for decades. "We're on our way!" Denise replied eagerly. Releasing the 'talk' button, she added, "Dork." Neda and Victor snickered as the three doctors headed for the elevator. # Denise was giddy. Her research team was having a very good day; after years of work, it appeared her brainchild--a drug to stimulate female arousal, long sought by doctors and patients alike--was ready for the FDA's human-trials phase. As long as the big-wigs gave the green light to trials, Stimulex would be on its way to market within the year. She knew, though the board almost certainly didn't, that the human trials were a formality. Her team already knew beyond doubt that it worked, and far better than anyone could have hoped. The meeting was also a formality, of course; the public, and therefore the pharmaceutical companies with their vast wealth & lobbying power, had been waiting for something like this for years. A safe, effective cure for frigidity was a dream-come-true for many people, and if all went according to the team's projections, thousands (if not millions) of women would be able to experience arousal and even orgasm like never before. No more inadequate feelings or feigned enjoyment. This was real medical progress, Moore told herself. And about time they got approval already, she thought, wrapped snugly in the smugness common to true genius and the truly delusional. Dr. Denise Moore had fielded many offers during her last year of Post-Doctoral research; her work with the Gallo Institute's team raised the bar for experimental pharmacology, and she knew it. She had her pick of the top options: government, chemical companies, even some international conglomerates made her excellent offers--for a new kid on the block. But she wanted full control; at 29, she might be young to head a development lab, but she knew her own potential. She should, she'd spent years working to prove it. Being young and beautiful was a disadvantage in the old boys' clubs; from the time she'd entered Johns Hopkins, she found she had to be faster, smarter, and more adaptable than most of her counterparts. Some old ways die hard. So, she'd taken her time considering the ramifications before accepting the project, and the long-term contract, at all. There was enough feminist in her, built largely on the bitterness she felt every time a professor or interviewer stared at her legs longer than he spent reviewing her qualifications and work, to be suspicious of the motivations behind marketing a drug with the potential to produce a thriving black market. She didn't want to be responsible for creating a thrill drug her employers would sell by the billions, without regard for consequences to the user. But, she'd reasoned, someone was going to create an equivalent to Viagra for women--the search for a reliable and regulable female aphrodisiac was literally centuries old, and medical science was right on the verge of truly decoding sexual response triggers in women. Gynecology was running decades, if not centuries, behind most other fields of medicine, but the birth control pill seemed to have opened the floodgates; when premarital sex took off, so did research into women's biology. Fancy that. Since she'd seen what happened while she was in grad school during the mid-90's pharmaceutical boom, she wanted to be doubly sure that anything she put her name on was physically safe at the very least, because she knew it would be handed out like breath mints. That wasn't cynicism, it was just reality. Moore could practically smell the eagerness around the corporate offices; she was given practically anything she could ever want as a researcher--generous budget; extensive facilities; a hand-picked team of psychiatrists, chemists, neurologists and other highly specialized developmental scientists; and all the equipment, test animals and experimental autonomy she could reasonably desire. It was, in short, a lucrative and glamorous gig--one that could make her name as a scientist and ensure her future financially. Ultimately, she rationalized her decision to take the job by telling herself she'd do it right; she'd find a way to make a drug that wouldn't harm anyone when it (inevitably) became a part of the street trade in recreational drugs. One that wouldn't exploit anyone, but would actually benefit them, by bringing more pleasure into sex. Lofty ideals perhaps, and deep down Denise was faintly embarrassed at her own egotism and hubris; part of her knew she was begging the comparison to Icharus, and there was a significant chance that she'd get burned just as badly. But, she used her own insecurity to push herself and her team harder, demanding more of them all than any had ever given to a project. Stimulex, their product, had become a consuming obsession for the group as the months passed and their second experimental compound started getting measurable results in lab chimps. Despite the team's sense of urgency--all were proud enough to be in silent agreement that they must be first to market--they carefully examined the primates and monitored their health for more than a year in total, testing the effects of different dosages and frequent or extended use. Moore credited her desire to preempt potential dangers for her insistence that they test on male subjects also, but in truth she was also following a hunch. If the drug worked as Victor, the neurologist, suggested then it would be equally safe for males as for females; however, none of them knew what effect it would have. The trials were uneven, but there hadn't been a single casualty--not even when Denise's core crew did lengthy threshold tests, injecting exponentially increasing quantities for many hours. In fact, the most fascinating and time consuming aspect of the process turned out to be exploring the drug's effects, as they seemed unable to find a dosage high enough to nullify the effects, or reveal any significant negative side effects or lasting damage to the drugged animals. At low levels, the females showed slightly elevated pulse rates, increased blood flow to the genitalia, slowed reflexes, and mild hyperactivity--all signs of primate arousal. With time, they realized that males required slightly higher doses to see effects, but it did increase sexual excitability; for most, this meant reduced prolapse. Instead of being satisfied by sexual encounters, drugged males would almost instantly develop a new erection and seek further contact; if denied sex, some of the more dominant chimps were prone to violent outbursts, which Denise noted with some concern. But, it was a small snag; overall, things were progressing swimmingly. The upside was that at higher doses, the effects in both sexes intensified to the point that the test subjects became single minded in pursuit of sexual stimulation. Even a dose of 100 times the original quantity administered seemed biologically safe; in fact, at such elevated levels of exposure, the subject's combined serotonin and endorphin levels seemed to induce spontaneous and nearly continual orgasm, which only released more biotic stimulants, creating a vicious cycle of arousal which would only stop when the subject lost consciousness due to exhaustion, or when the drug's effects wore off hours later. Preliminary data impressed everyone, but it had also raised the stakes--they had the biggest and baddest aphrodisiac in the world on their hands, and most of the company's staff seemed to know it. Industrial espionage had become a very real threat, so Denise had to limit access to the lab, allowing only three people besides herself full access to their process notes and the formula itself: Victor Navarre, a brilliant and uncomfortably handsome neurologist she'd known since grad school; Neda Amanpour, a young and ambitious psychobiologist; and William Cromwell, hot-shot chemist turned VP of Development for Synth-Et, Inc. This was the core group Dr. Moore prepared to take upstairs to the sound-proofed confines of the executive board room; today they'd unveil their secret to the bosses William had been warming up for them. They'd almost certainly fail to appreciate the miraculous good fortune they were being handed, but they knew enough to recognize the money they stood to make by getting Stimulex to market pronto. # Shaking herself out of her reverie, Dr. Denise (as her crew called her) tried to mentally prepare for the meeting; in truth, she was nervous despite their overwhelming success. She might be pretty, with her bronze skin, unusual height, and striking Slavic features--but she was a scientist, not a spokesmodel. Meeting with the Board meant putting her game face on; her lithe figure was draped in soft burgundy silk, her hair twisted into an imitation Grace Kelly, her makeup feminine and subtle. Three inches of dyed-to-match heel made her walk swing a little more in the seat, pushed her hips forward, and emphasized the smooth line of her long legs. She looked good, but she felt like an imposter; in her preferred reality, she'd usually be wearing a lab coat and blue jeans right about now. William had encouraged her to dress for a date more than a business meeting, but she hadn't argued with his suggestions; this was a game she knew all too well, playing to a room full of much older men. Despite her eagerness and excitement, she realized part of her dreaded the meeting; no wonder she'd been woolgathering. Suddenly very aware of her lengthy silence, she nodded at the eager faces of Navarre and Amanpour as they reentered her work space, arms loaded with files. "Got it all?" she asked them. "Not yet, but soon." Victor grinned through his words, a happy tomcat with a muzzle full of canary. Even the typically subdued Neda smiled toothily, tipping an uncharacteristically flirtatious wink at Denise. "After you, boss lady." # The entire board of directors sat in rapt fascination, entranced by the footage of a female chimpanzee being mounted by a series of males; over a four hour period, they were told, she'd had sex more than twenty times, and still she aggressively sought the next partner. "Question, Dr. Moore." Denise couldn't tell one suit from the next; the room was darkened for video-viewing, and she'd never been very interested in the business side of her work, so the room was a sea of blank faces in identical Armani. She had no idea who'd spoken. "Yes?" She replied, addressing the table in general. "How many of the test subjects show signs of addiction?" It was a surprisingly astute and concerned question, more than she'd really expected from them, and she was caught flat-footed. "None, at least physically. The potential for psychological dependence will be one of the key components of human trials." Victor fielded the question, as it was the one he'd been waiting for, unlike Denise; she was brilliant alright, but sometimes shockingly naive. He could almost see the wheels turning in all those corporate brains; ah yes, human trials. Must get this into final stages ASAP, money to be made here; that's what they thought, and Victor knew it, even if Denise and Neda didn't. Any twinges of reservations had been stilled when they saw Lula on the vid-screen; a chimpanzee with 10 doses in her bloodstream, frantically humping a specially rigged sex simulator machine only ten minutes after ingestion was a surprisingly powerful persuasive tool. "Well, I think their data speaks for itself," Cromwell said, full of sly good humor. "Indeed so, Mr. Cromwell." The chairman's voice echoed through the fortress-like room. "And may I say, well done, team." There was a round of applause; the three scientists were torn between pride and chagrin, but the executives were all smiles, especially William. But, that was it; they had the green light for human testing. Experimental Ethics Ch. 02 ** Chapter Two: Looking Back, Moving Forward ** The renegade researchers left the room with surprisingly minimal celebration; during the whole circuitous walk back to their secure laboratory, each had far more in their thoughts than they showed to the others. Power might corrupt, but they'd all just gotten a lesson in the reverse reality: corruption creates power. It hit them differently, but they all felt it; this was the real frontier. They were holding the keys to awesome power, enough to change society forever. For a group of people who'd all spent much of their lives as social pariah, the brains instead of the brawn at every turn, it was the true turning point. Despite their varied responses and lingering concerns, they'd finally hit the real point of no return. # For his part, the team's lone executive was alive in a way he'd never imagined; months and months of playing nurse-maid to Dr. Frankenstein's little family of researchers had gotten him in good with both the Board and the Dream Team. He was the only person with real access to both sides of the fence, the only person with all the key information. Cromwell'd been a mediocre chemist, but he was a great archivist in possession of world-class manipulation skills; he'd documented practically every minute of the team's activities, realizing from the outset that aging executives would never make sense of raw data and projected figures. They had to be intrigued, but devoid of real understanding; he had to turn on a bunch of tight-assed WASPs without making them acknowledge it, no small task. So, he'd carefully selected the most telling moments from the animal trials and run them on multiple screens while he spoke to the directors. It was an award-worthy performance, his solemn admiration for the team's dedication and careful attention to protocols, his cheerful surprise at their progress, his focus on the shareholders and public. Master showman or not, William Cromwell's smiles were legitimate. He, of course, knew damned good and well that there was more, much more, footage that could never be shown to the suits--and now it appeared that he and the Dream Team were going to get away with their...lapses in experimental ethics. Everybody owed him a little something, and he hadn't even pulled the real rabbit out of his hat yet. Once Stimulex got final FDA approval, it really wouldn't matter what they had done to get it there, unless the media got hold of it. They'd never understand it, so they'd explain it in the only way they could understand; after all, the media was nothing but a bunch of perverts with one track minds, so they'd do anything in their power to make everyone else look the same way. Scientists screwing like crazed rabbits in heat made for sensational headlines, something researchers of the past had less reason to fear. But it was science and progress, not slavery and pornography, no matter how the press would portray things if given the chance. Denise's team, after all, was working in the long tradition of medical innovators before them; why was it okay to risk contracting smallpox by experimenting on oneself, but not okay to test Stimulex? Silly double-standard, if you asked William. Yep, he was ready for anything. He'd prepared his little "great tradition" sound-bite to explain the team's "revised protocols" many weeks earlier, just in case. Besides, done is done, and nobody could go back and make different decisions. Whatever his faults, William Cromwell was decisive, not to mention relentlessly goal-oriented. Single-mindedness has its compensations; he grinned anew at his own wit. He didn't have a one track mind--he was just single-minded. Funny. # Denise felt detached, like she'd had a nasty accident and gone into shock. Truly a weird thing to feel at the moment of her greatest victory to date, but there it was: the ease with which they'd gotten approval and covered their tracks stunned her, left her with the anticlimactic knowledge that her gut-wrenching anxieties meant nothing. She hadn't really believed it was possible, Moore realized. Part of her had been waiting for the whole team to be caught, stopped, questioned, something; despite William's continual cockiness, the Girl Scout in her had been expecting some kind of punishment. Thanks to the Holy Roman Church, guilt came naturally to Denise. Between parish school, mandatory confession, and her family's deeply held and highly visible Catholic traditions, she'd been steeped in faith and provided with a rigidly defined moral code. As a woman of science, she'd fallen away from the church as she reached adulthood, but part of her was forever counting and cataloguing her sins, eager to make good on them. Usually, it stayed in the background, but right now, she felt bathed in sin and shame. But whether her guilt was over her questionable research ethics or her newly-minted sexual promiscuity, she couldn't have said for sure. # Victor was overjoyed, eager to celebrate, and utterly unsurprised by the afternoon's events. This was going to be one hell of a year, but more importantly, he was going to really do something. Despite his training and abilities, Navarre had always felt like he was wasting himself somehow, as though his life lacked some essential core of meaning that others' had. Before this project, that was. Now, he had the chance to be great, to make himself part of history. His father would have been proud, and Navarre could almost feel his approval in the air. The neurologist knew in his heart that he and his team (he'd thought of them as his team almost instantly, but never said it out loud) were going to change the world, literally. He could make people happy, keep them healthy, and get rich in the process? Great. He could fix so much that was wrong in the world, and nobody was even going to fight the changes. Victor knew that at heart, many people must know that sex and romance were to blame for most of the world's tensions. The "battle of the sexes" was over, though. Women would feel beautiful and complimented by all the attention they'd receive, men wouldn't need to fear rejection or deny their sexual desires. He flashed on a glimpse of Neda's black hair shining under fluorescent lights as she knelt at his feet and eagerly tongued his throbbing prick, a dozen doses in her system. How far they'd come in such a short time. Tonight, he thought he'd hyper-dose Neda again, let the little lesbo beg him for his cock, and fuck her senseless. He might even take her in the ass, and then move on with his life afterward. No explanations, no bullshit, no hostilities. Life had never been better. He felt like singing. # Nobody had asked her to say much during the presentation, and for that small favor, Neda was grateful. Denise and Victor covered the science, William made the sales pitch, and once again she was left somewhat on the fringe of their core team, in appearance if not reality. Forgiving and generous by nature, Amanpour didn't think they'd do such a thing intentionally. She hated public speaking anyway, and felt particularly at a disadvantage in a room full of old white men with money; they were everything she wasn't, and nothing she wanted to become. Besides, even she knew that Dr. Moore was the one they wanted to see--and Denise was apparently unphased by the prospect of facing a room full of patronizing bosses who'd spend as much time checking out her ass as listening to her ideas. They'd talked about it a few times, and Denise explained her pragmatic reasons for suffering the indignities which came with being an attractive young woman in charge of a sex-related study. "I know, I know. It's unfair as hell, and it's always the same old thing. If you're single and femme, you're either a Barbie, an evil man-hating feminist, or a potential conquest. If you're too girly, you're a know-nothing flake; if you're too butch, you're a dyke with an axe to grind." She fidgeted a bit, realizing what she'd said. "I'm sorry, Neda. You know what I mean...I'm not talking about being a lesbian, I'm talking about the boys upstairs..." Neda let her off the hook; truthfully, she hadn't taken offense in the first place. "No, I know; I know just what you mean. But that's just it--how can you put up with it? How can you face people like that and keep your cool? I always end up wanting to tell them off, so I just keep my mouth shut." Denise rolled her eyes. "It's all just games, so I treat it like playing a part. When I have to deal with that kind of person, I play the part they've already assigned to some extent, and I get enough leverage to get my ideas out, too." "Wouldn't work for me--I'm not pretty enough, even if I wanted to do it your way." Amanpour shrugged casually; she took herself as she was, but she didn't kid herself either. "First, you're kidding yourself about your looks; don't sell yourself short. Besides, it's a double-edged sword anyway: If you're attractive to the muckety-mucks--you know, fuckable in that midlife crisis-I'm hip because I read GQ-I'm going bald so I'll buy a sports car kind of way--then you belong in the secretarial pool. But if you're not attractive to them, they don't even look twice at you OR your resume. It's a bunch of bullshit, but it's reality. They're not going to hand over the reigns, hon; we've got to get in the door however we can." Sometimes, Neda really couldn't understand other women; how could a woman as capable and qualified as Denise play their misogynistic games with a smile? But her feminist ideals, as well as her rock-solid sexual identity, were seriously compromised only weeks later, during her own crash-course in Stimulex hyper-dose. Reflecting on all she'd seen and done in the safety of the lab, and all that she'd experienced among the colleagues she'd grown so close to, Neda was momentarily jealous of the men and women who'd be paid to try the pill and taste its powers. It seemed almost ridiculous to compensate the test subjects, knowing the pleasures they'd experience; instantly, though, her envy was swept away in a wave of ambivalence. She was briefly flooded with a memory of her first threshold trial, of gleefully drinking down a stranger's cum while Victor fucked her from behind, and relishing every second of it. And she was, for data collection purposes, a virgin; she could scarcely imagine all that the more appropriate experimental candidates would get out of the experience. Was she doing something awful here; would she someday be seen as a Judas, or worse, by the very women who'd been her extended family back in college? In some ways, she supposed she was. Neda'd been out of the closet since high school, and had never even really considered sex with a man beyond a few awkward and aborted encounters as an adolescent. On a multiple dose of Stimulex, though, she'd done far more than consider it; it was an intriguing result, which raised a host of complicated questions. while the drug didn't change her sexual identity, she did quite happily have sex with men while on the drug. At the time, it didn't matter who--or what--she fucked, but later was a different story. She didn't find men sexually attractive, and realizing that she'd not only had sex with them but had begged for it and then some was profoundly humiliating. It just went against everything she knew about herself, twisting her up inside. But underneath that was another feeling, a strange sexual thrill that seemed based in her pain attached itself to the memory of her Stimulex driven adventures in heterosexuality. Despite what she knew about her own sexuality, she'd had sex with both men and women on the drug, and both gave her orgasms so intense she couldn't do anything but ride them. Confusing, indeed. It was precisely this kind of confusing confrontation with the consequences of their brain-child that made Neda wonder if the whole team was making an enormous mistake. Knowledge isn't always progress, certainly not always the right kind of progress anyway. With all of them quite eagerly participating in the secret pre-trials, could any of them keep a clear enough head to work in the interests of using science for the greater good, or had it all already spun way out of control? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Experimental Ethics Ch. 03 ** Chapter Three: Crossing the Threshold ** Truth be told, their nominal boss William was really the instigator of the illicit pre-testing. Victor had forgotten his wallet in the lab somehow and returned after-hours to retrieve it. Entering the air locked complex of inner observation and examination chambers, he was surprised to find the corridors well lit, but figured Denise was working late again. The neurologist was surprised to instead find the Vice President seated at an observation window, and Victor was truly shocked when he saw what the man was watching. In the control room, a red-haired woman slid a vibrator in and out of her pussy at an increasing pace. Almost immediately, her head lolled back as her back arched and she fucked herself into a noisy orgasm. Despite the strange circumstances, Victor felt his cock react to the obviously legitimate cries of lust and the sight of the pale skinned, smoothly curved earthquake in the next room. At that moment, Cromwell finally acknowledged the other scientist's entry. Indicating the frenzied woman in the other woman, he spoke: "My wife, Dr. Navarre. An acute case of sexual response disorder. She--well, we--had to find out...". His voice trailed off as Victor's eyes widened, but he quickly added, "it's voluntary, of course, and she seems to be responding very well." Victor knew he should say something, anything, but his eyes were glued to the woman--William's wife! She was approaching the one-way glass, running her hands over her body as she walked. "Please, baby. Please, come fuck me. I've got to have that cock in me, now!" Her eyes were slightly unfocused and hazed with lust but she seemed fine otherwise. He hadn't had sex in months--the project ate up all his time--and he was getting horny as hell. "Make a deal, Victor?" William abruptly broke into a grin, changing tone to adopt a conciliatory posture. He certainly hadn't anticipated this turn of events, at least not at this juncture, but couldn't help but be pleased by how easy it was going to be. While his voice betrayed nothing, he could sense the other man's eagerness to join him in violating their professional codes, making further off-the-books experimentation all but inevitable. "What do you have in mind, Mr. Cromwell?" Navarre asked, emphasizing the formal name and implication of authority that came with it. While he was still in a state of shock so acute the he kept expecting to wake, he was no fool. This man was his boss, the woman his wife, and (particularly after what he'd just seen) the job was too good, the work too promising, to risk it all because he needed to get laid. Cromwell seized his moment, counting the emphasis on his status as acquiescence to his authority, giving him license to set the terms for a pact between the men that would open a host of new doors. Also, something in him was proud of his wife at this moment, enjoying showing her off like an exotic pet to the other man, one for whom he'd always felt an unacknowledged envy. And a sadistic impulse in him made the idea of violating his wife's trust by exposing her in this state--even of allowing the other man to take more direct advantage of her drug-induced lust--deeply, if perversely, gratifying. They came to terms quickly. The two men of science were negotiating while sporting erections, after all, which rarely leads to complex conversation. After tonight, Victor would film Cromwell's "experiments" on his wife and monitor her vital signs and responses. In exchange, he would be free to perform his own off-the-books research if and when he so desired--and would even own 10% of the patent rights on the final product when it reached the market. The arrogant Vice President watched his wife from his peripheral view; she was busily fingering herself for his benefit and blissfully unaware that she was performing for two men rather than one. Pointing through the glass at the oblivious, desperately horny woman in the next room, he looked Victor in the eye. "Shake on it?" Navarre broke into a grin. "You're the boss, man." And so the real trials had begun. # That first night, by the time they'd both cum, the drugged redhead had almost lost consciousness, a fact that disappointed the power-drunk men; though Victor made no comment, once again very aware that he'd just fucked his boss's wife. But Cromwell seemed irate; the first phase of human trials, and already there were bugs to work out. But, the post-orgasmic crash effect might actually signal a stronger response in human subjects than anticipated, mimicking the 100+ dose threshold effects they'd noted in chimps. That was intriguing. Also, they didn't yet know whether the response was anomalous in some way. Further study was called for, clearly. # Freshly supplied with his own illicit stash of the current tincture, Victor started his own experiments the very next night, dosing Denise secretly before inviting her over for dinner as they prepared to seal the lab for the night. Neda was already on her way out of the building, and the two old friends were alone together, a rarity. He knew what he had planned was way over the line, but a big part of him really didn't care. Somehow, the guilt he should have felt about exploiting his friend and colleague in this way turned instead into a kind of righteous anger, directed largely at the very person he was manipulating against without her consent. But he didn't examine the logic of what he was doing, or the motivations, very much. His mind was too consumed with images drawn from the past and fantasies of the future, visions of her flesh under his control. And the idea of her considerable intellect and will subsumed to his was a powerful drug all its own, one that made any reservations he had utterly irrelevant. While they were now supposedly "just friends"--a bunch of manipulative female bullshit if he'd ever heard any--he'd never stopped wanting her. But the failure of their romantic relationship left him feeling rejected and harboring some bitterness toward her, though he tried hard not to betray himself by showing it. Sometimes he fantasized about her coming back to him, literally crawling across the floor, begging his forgiveness. In these fantasies, she begged for a lot of things; tonight, he'd see those fantasies come to life. What else could matter? After all, dreams don't very often come true. # By the time they reached Navarre's apartment, he thought his ex-girlfriend was actually coming on to him, something that would have been unlikely even when they were dating. Encourage and still frustrated and horny from the previous evening's unsatisfying after-hours duties assisting the Cromwells, Victor added five more drops to the cocktail he fixed for her. Ten minutes later, his reserved and sexually inexperienced colleague was bent forward onto the dining room table, her bare tits pressed flat and slickly rubbing the waxed surface as she eagerly pressed her hips back to meet Victor's thrusts as he fucked her dripping pussy from behind. She growled, feral with lust, as his pace increased; the chemist's little frame quaked in orgasm. Without pause, she continued her enthusiastic humping. "Yes, yes, fuck...you fuck me so good...more, yes, please more...so fucking hot." She was babbling, a steady stream of nastiness littered with pleas for more of Victor's cock. "Harder...faster...yeah, give me that cock...wear that pussy out..." He cheerfully obliged. Another orgasm made her whole body thrash and her inner muscles clench and release in rapid-fire bursts. Victor felt the cum rise from his balls as her super-charged tunnel milked him expertly of its own accord. Lost in the moment and unconcerned about her reaction, he grabbed his ex by the hair, pulling her head back somewhat as he used the extra leverage to pummel her cunt as his orgasm approached. "You like that, you bitch? You like me fucking you?" The question was lost on Denise, who was swallowed by another pleasure wave the moment her head was pulled backwards; the shock of the slight pain, the fire in her pussy and the sense of helplessness combined to short-circuit all capacity for reason. It seemed she'd never stop cumming, but then she felt the cock in her swell and then pulse as it flooded her with Victor's semen, and she came harder than ever, screaming her release before losing consciousness. As she passed out, a sated and slightly dazed Victor pulled his softening cock out of her slack body and gently lowered her to a supine position on the floor. # ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Experimental Ethics Ch. 04 ** Chapter Four: Consciousness is Key ** Twelve days after the start of their gentlemen's agreement, Cromwell came by the lab and asked Victor if he could stay late to help him "run some numbers" on a possible biochemical refinement to the formula. When Denise came over to see what was up, he explained that his chemistry background had provided him with an idea quite out of the blue. "I've been watching the tapes of Trial 3, and it occurred to me that the immediate drop-off of energy might be controllable. We need a way to minimize the lasting energy-depletion which seemed to result from the extreme levels of sexual arousal and neurological stimulation. If we can level off the metabolic crash, we'll have a much better chance of marketing it as a once-daily maintenance pill. Not to mention, we might be able to undercut the black-market somewhat." This last appealed to Denise, but part of her was irritated that William--whose expertise was somewhat dated, if nothing else--was tinkering with the formula on his own. Just then, Neda made some kind of exclamation from across the lab, drawing all eyes. Excited by something in front of her, she called out to Denise who hurried over, leaving the men to resume their conversation. Her irritation wasn't really fair, she reasoned. After all, he's a skilled chemist, and it's a good idea, though somewhat impractical. Her irritation at what she'd already subconsciously dismissed as harmless enthusiasm on the part of an envious has-been was swept aside by the promise of a breakthrough. Resuming their exchange, Cromwell told Victor that he'd added a biologically harmless synthetic stimulant to the compound and wanted to test its efficacy. Eager to pocket a sample of the drug prototype for his own "research" purposes, Victor eagerly agreed to stay late again that night, in the interests of science. When he came into the observation room, he found that the ex-chemist was already in the room with his wife, who was at that moment naked and on her knees at his feet, trying to claw his belt open and get his clothes off but hampered by waves of tremors that seemed to pass through her every few seconds. "Please...please...Willy. Let Willy out. Want." She panted between words, all but incoherent. Cromwell addressed the one-way glass: "Victor, are you in there? Let me know if you're getting this." Victor spoke into the mic for the room, letting the other man know he'd just arrived and was starting recording. Satisfied with what he heard, the executive narrated briefly, taking on a detached tone of observation at the same time that his crazed wife managed to get his pants open and free his cock, swallowing it without pause. "The subject has received 40 doses in a one hour period, showing heightened response after five and reaching an apparent peak of arousal potential at 35 drops." He twined a hand through her coppery hair as she fervently fellated him, guiding her head almost absently as he continued to speak. "Pulse rate remains elevated, blood pressure slightly heightened but within acceptable limits. Patient's psychological state progressed from anxious and distracted to clinically monomaniacal at approximately twelve doses, reaching an apparent state of mental suggestibility at thirty." At this, he paused briefly, looking down at his wife as she wrapped her hands around his body and gripped his still-clothed ass, pulling him further into her. The eerily calm chemist responded by using her hair to pull her back from his body. Separated from the object of her desire, the glassy-eyed woman began to whine wordlessly. "Now, now, little slut. Be good, or no more for you." Immediately, she fell silent, though still eyed him as he quickly undressed, following his erection with her eyes like a cat tracking prey. Once nude, he stepped forward again, abruptly pulling her head back onto his prick, pushing her down further. "Good girl, down your throat," he praised her gently before resuming his narration of the research data for posterity. "In order to test the potentially lasting neurological impact and psychological consequences of the trance-like state, subject has received a few simple suggestions for minor behavior modification which should allow us to trace the subconscious patterning and potential side effects that might result from this unforseen reaction to high dosages. Further testing will be necessary to determine the relative prevalence of this secondary reaction in other test subjects." Victor had the gnawing suspicion that he was missing something here--but it wasn't easy to focus on the implications of what he was hearing while trying to record everything and feeling more than a little envious of the enthusiastic blowjob his boss's attractive wife was giving right before his eyes. Finished recounting the events before Victor's arrival, William turned his attentions back to his wife. He tenderly gathered her hair with both hands, pulling together loosely behind her head and using it as leverage to hold her head still while he started actively fucking her face. Her tongue pulsed along his shaft on every thrust, the muscles of her throat squeezing around the head as he pushed past the ring of her esophagus and into her throat, choking her. "Yeah, take it." When she pulled against his controlling hand, fighting not to gag and trying to get air, he spoke to her as one would a dog. "No. Bad girl. Now try again, and this time relax. Take it all.." and thrust back into her mouth. This time she gave no sign of resistance, and Cromwell beamed down at her, pushing his cock all the way into her spasming throat. "Good...that's a good girl." His face betrayed his impending orgasm. "Okay, my good little cocksucker. You can cum now." Victor's jaw literally fell open when the hyper-dosed Allison's body flushed and quivered with apparent pleasure at her husband's command. Her body shook and she would have fallen if not for William's hand, now not just wrapped in her hair but holding her weight up by it. Thus utterly empowered, he exploded in orgasm while buried deep in her, sending his cum straight down her throat and causing her body to shake once again in apparent orgasm. Sated for the moment, William pulled back slightly but still held the subjugated woman's head in place while she quavered. Releasing his death-grip on her fiery mane, he allowed her mouth to slide off his deflating prick as her body slowed its tremors and she gasped for breath. Still kneeling on the floor, she gazed up at him with adoration and what seemed like expectation or request. Pleased with her responses and astonished at the ease with which she performed sexual acts she would not even discuss a few weeks earlier, he asked her "who takes care of you, baby? Who lets you cum so good?" "You do. You do." At this, Victor noticed that her skin flushed again and her pulse rate spiked briefly, indicating another wave of arousal. Her right hand snaked between her spread thighs, apparently of its own volition, but her movements stopped when Cromwell spoke again. "And who am I?" "The boss?" Cromwell chuckled at this, patting her head. "That's right, my Alli-cat. But you can call me Sir." "Yes, sir. Thank you." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author's note: it can go a lot of places from here. Want to see where it goes? Have an idea you'd like me to consider? Drop me a feedback and let me know...