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Pleasure

By: brainfade



It was starting to feel like one of those Agatha Christie stories. I had assembled everyone in the reception room, and I was addressing them.

"I ask you all to help us. I know that you want to be away from here as soon as possible. We just need to take your details, quickly check your identities, and we will let you go."

Some of those listening did not welcome my message.

"Don't worry. What we have here is a lot more important than a few girls giving massage. We cannot absolutely promise confidentiality. But please be assured that it is very unlikely that you will have to be interviewed later. We won't be telling your wives and girlfriends."

At least this raised a hint of a laugh.

I whispered into one of the women's ears. She nodded.

"And help yourselves to coffee and things."

It took about an hour before we had finished. Three men and five women. I was thankful that the women were all British, I was not going to have to get involved in a trafficking enquiry.

I waited until the forensic crew had finished and the corpse had been taken to the morgue.  Then I drove home.

"The Prof's dead." I told my wife.

"I heard. What was it?"

"A huge stroke, they think. They will have to check. Had he seemed to be out of sorts lately?

"No, not really. He's always been a bit odd of course. A bit more secretive perhaps, but he seemed to be quite happy."

"You know where it happened?"

"No. Where?"

"Down in xxxxxxx. In a brothel."

"Business or pleasure?"

"According to the tart, it was very much for pleasure."

"What a way to go!"

I poured out a couple of generous whiskies. We both raised our glasses.

"The Prof."

We clinked and sipped.

When the report landed on my desk a couple of days later it was confirmed that he had had a huge haemorrhagic stroke. He had, in the old terms, burst a blood vessel while orgasming. The only curious thing in the report was that his penis seemed abnormal. The pathologist was going to have to do more investigation of this.

In the same envelope as the report was a handwritten slip of paper, suggesting that I ought to speak to one of my colleagues.

She, my colleague that is, was investigating a series of deaths of prostitutes in the area. 

Again, it seemed that death has been due to natural causes, but there were too many of them to be a coincidence. And in each case, their sexual parts had appeared to be a bit abnormal. In one case her nipples, in others, their vulva and/or clitoris. I showed her the photographs of the Prof's penis. 

"Yes, very similar. A bit like a dark cobweb over the sensitive skin."

She showed me her case photos, and I agreed.

"Can I take a copy of this and ask around a bit?"

She took one of the pictures of the living Prof.

When I saw her again a couple of days later she had shown the picture to some of the other working girls, and they confirmed that the Prof may well have been a customer of the dead girls.

At home my wife was upset.

She and I had been to the same university, and though not at the same time had attended several of the Prof's courses. He had inspired both of us to take up our careers. She was now a senior researcher in the Prof's forensic science laboratory. I had been fascinated by forensics, and had joined the police.

My wife was upset because she was now having to be the Boss at work. In the Prof's absence, morale was at rock bottom. She was having to nag, encourage, explain, negotiate, and scheme. All she really wanted to do was her own work, she did not want to be a manager, but she was stuck with it. She was also trying to make sense of the Prof's personal research projects. She was bringing home piles of his notebooks – highly irregular, the notebooks were supposed to never leave the laboratory. But she had found that she could make little sense of them at work, there were just too many interruptions.

At least I could help her. (Again irregular, but what the hell.) The Prof's writing was not easy to read. We were transcribing the notes onto our computer. She would read, I would type. Often it made little sense, but we could then stare at the scribble in order to guess where we had misread it. Slowly we got the hang of it, and we were able to speed up the transcription.

We had started with the most recent book. It was soon clear that we needed to go further back.

We worked late. In the morning, it was a day we both had off work, we did what we usually did on such mornings, and we did it slowly, luxuriously, and lovingly. Then, again as we usually did, we both went back to sleep.

I awoke with an idea. I waited until she surfaced again.

"You know you said that he had been more secretive lately."

"Did I? Well yes, he had been."

"How long. Perhaps if we go back to when the secrecy starts?"

She sat up and thought. 

"Eighteen months? Yes, just after the YYYYY case."

"What was that?"

"Oh, it was a chap who had infected a series of women. We had to prove that it was the same strain of the disease that he carried, that the women had got."

"Sexually transmitted?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Never came to court. Prosecutors said there was insufficient proof. They said that that strain might be widespread, and we couldn't say it wasn't. The bloke claimed unsound mind – claimed he couldn't help himself. Anyway, it killed him not much later."

We were both eager to test the theory, so were soon sipping coffee and dropping toast crumbs over the notebooks, looking for anything relating to YYYYY.

We found what we were looking for. It took time and a lot of effort. But we were sure that we had pieced the story together. Then I noticed a scribbled string of letters and numbers in the margin.

"The Prof had a computer?"

"Yes, it's a slow and ancient laptop. I think it's still in the office somewhere."

"Did you look at what was on it at all?"

"I tried."

"Encrypted?"

I pointed at the characters.

"The password?"

The lab was empty. The animal carers had been and fed and cleaned and watered. We could hear the animals scurrying in their cages. Otherwise silence. My presence was explained to the security guard on the gate.

"We mustn't work on our own, so I have brought him in with me."

I flashed him my police badge, signed the book, and he was happy.

Sure enough the password gave us entry to the Prof's private documents. There was a report he was writing entitled 'YYYYY serum. Analysis and effects.'

We read through the unfinished report. I will spare you all the scientific language, Here is the gist of it.

The Prof had theorised that many diseases cause symptoms that encourage their transmission. As examples he cited:-

The common cold causes and is spread by sneezing.

Mosquitoes are attracted to sweating feverish patients with malaria, 

Toxoplasmosis infected rats and mice show less fear of cats. Cats are the diseases primary host, and they get it from eating infected rats and mice.

Had YYYYY's disease indeed made him incapable of self-control?

Samples of the micro-organism infecting YYYYY were grown in the lab. They seemed to excrete a biologically active substance. The Prof had isolated this, and tested it on the mice. It made them extremely sexually active, but raised their blood pressure. 

At the end of the report there were some unfinished experiments.

Test subject 1 Chloe £50

Dilution 100000:1 Batch 3

Reported Effects None

Observed effects None

Subjects 2 to 5, Dilutions decreasing, results similar.

Test subject 6 Ruby £50

Dilution 15000 : 1 Batch 3

Reported Effects Slightly increased stimulation. Good orgasm

Observed Effects None observed



Test subject 7 Ceri £60

Dilution 7500 : 1 Batch 3

Reported Effects Increased stimulation. Powerful orgasm

Observed Effects Slight redness – possibly normal for orgasm

At this time, it seemed, the subjects were no longer asking for payment. They were contacting the Prof and volunteering. Amongst the results was a comment against one subject's record saying that she had stolen the remains of the Batch 3 serum.

I telephoned my colleague. She confirmed the dates. The dead prostitutes had been found at about the right time. It looked as if they had overdosed on the serum and killed themselves. I checked their working names, and yes, most of them matched subject's names.

What were we to do? We both have, or should that be had, the greatest respect for the Prof. But he had been conducting unethical and, it seemed, dangerous experiments on the local working girls of the area. And the serum? What if it became available on the black market? It would be murderous. The only thing to do seemed to be to overlook the evidence, and to try to ensure that no-one else follows the same trail.

We had brought the notebooks with us in a brief-case. When we left, the Prof's old laptop was in it in their place.

The next week my wife heard, with much relief, that a replacement for the Prof had been appointed, and that she would be able to return to her old job. She tidied the Prof's, and for the last few months, her office in readiness for its new occupant.. She discretely removed several items for safekeeping.

All that was a couple of years ago. Last week I took a week off work and had done some jobs around the house. This included re-decorating the bedroom. We had ordered a new bed, and as well as new wallpaper, I was replacing some rickety old bedroom furniture with modern stuff. I had to empty the old drawers and sort and re-organise their contents in the new storage.

This morning, being a non-working day for both of us, we had concentrated on pleasure. I had reached into the drawer and took out the little bottle. I had squeezed a little of the 'intimate lubricant' onto my finger. She had squealed, but not in an unpleasant way, when I had placed the cold lubricant between her lower lips and onto her clitoris. 

I let my finger rest there, not wanting to do too much too soon. I think we both love it when we wait like that. I know I love feeling that little bulge growing, feeling it pulse as the blood engorges it. 

I am imagining it now. Slow gentle massage. I kiss her breasts while I slide my finger over and around the silky flesh. I press inwards. The flesh parts to welcome me, and she arches her back to make access easier. I press upwards and feel the slightly softer place she loves me to find. I press it and she gasps.

I decided that I would use my tongue. I slid down and gently kissed her belly, then lower, and lower. She arched and squirmed to accelerate my progress downwards until I was able to gently lick her. Gently was not enough for her. I licked and sucked. She squirmed and pressed. 

"Oh God. Oh my God. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh!!!"

I have abbreviated her cries.  Although we live in a detached house, I suspect that the neighbours would be able to supply a fuller version.  

Now sometimes we like it if I then enter her, and luxuriate in her post orgasmic clutches. At other times, we wait a little and then she explores and fondles me, before she straddles and surrounds me.  Then she likes to find that position where the head of my penis is being rubbed against her G-spot to our eventual mutual satisfaction.

This morning she was panting like a steam train. Between pants, words came out, there was 'Thank you', 'Bloody amazing,' and there were more gods, shits and fucks. The panting and words subsided. She was asleep. 

Yes, I was aroused and I could have taken my pleasure. She says she likes to be awoken by cunt stretching intrusion. But I wanted something else. I got up, put on slippers and a dressing gown and went downstairs. 

Soon the coffee smelt incredible. I looked at the packet – but it was just our usual blend. Somehow, it smelled better. She likes milk in hers, and opening the fridge I noticed the cheese. I took it out and cut off a sliver. When I popped it into my mouth it was as if I had never tasted anything before. I buzzed and swayed to the ultimate cheese experience. The image that comes to my mind now is swimming through runny brie. (I like brie. If you dont, then how about melted chocolate, or perhaps double cream.)

I took the coffee upstairs. I placed her mug at her bedside and then mine on top of my bedside drawers. I noticed the lubricant bottle. Something was pencilled on the label. It was unclear, but I made out 'Batch 4 7500'.

She was snoring. It hadn't killed her.

I sipped my coffee.

Coffee heaven on stilts. Wow. I like cheese. I love coffee. What I was tasting could start a new religion. 

I thought. 

I had got the lubricant into my mouth from her. The serum was amplifying my pleasure. What about my finger, It had been rubbing her as well? Did it feel different? I rubbed it against my thumb. 

No, nothing strange.

So the serum only effects moist membranes like the genitalia, and the lining of the mouth. 

Phew. Powerful stuff.

I sipped. Sniffed the coffee. Wow again. I put the mug down. The click disturbed her. She squirmed a bit, and opened her eyes.

"Come here. Lie down. I am going to fuck you silly, you lovely lovely man."

I paused a moment, thought about it, and came to a decision.

I took the bottle and squeezed a tiny amount onto the head of my penis.

It's evening now. We are both sore and aching from the unaccustomed exercise. Not only that, but the fridge is nearly empty. 

It's wearing off now. Typing this document was hard to start with. We are now both able to control ourselves a bit better. We discussed it as best we could. We both felt that we should record the facts, but that we should, as far as possible, put the information out of reach.  

We have put the Batch 4 7500 bottle, together with the phial that we think contains undiluted serum in an old metal box. We will put this document and the notebooks in there as well. We plan to secure it with two padlocks. I will hide one key. She will hide the other.

___________________________________________

The above is a copy. For the sum of £1,000,000 now, and a guarantee of 15% of your profits before tax, I can let you have the remaining goods.

Pleasure



Sophie woke up naked on a table. 

Though the surface felt hard, she was comfortable. The cool metal dipped and cupped her curves as if it had formed around them. The air shifted over her bare skin at nearly her exact body temperature. Comfortable, perfectly cradled, and terrified. 

Thin wires wrapped around her wrists and ankles, not biting, but restraining through some combination of warm energy and the steady blinking glow the filaments emitted. She twisted to watch the dance of light, pulled against the tethers that didn't give an inch. 

Her thoughts wandered, drifting through a fog she guessed to be drug-induced. How had she ended up here? Where were her clothes? Where the hell was she? 

She felt her panic rising, but her pulse remained steady, her breathing calm and slow. The drug again, or whatever had stolen her memory. It seemed she still suffered some effects. The last thing Sophie remembered was the pub. God. She hadn't even been drinking, just sitting with a tumbler of ice and soda water and watching the new guy wipe down tables. 

The new guy had become her sole reason for frequenting the place. Not that he noticed her, but Sophie had been there with friends the night they hired him, and she'd had to come back again--and again. He had the weirdest eyes. He had long fingers that swept the rag across the table in a way that managed to make her blush--even from across the room. 

She'd sat there, every night, squirming and imagining the things those fingers could do. Sophie had a vivid imagination. She had nursed the fantasy for a week, and it had left her burning to catch the man's attention, to satisfy the hunger his intense gaze fed the few times his weird, brilliant eyes looked her way. 

But she didn't remember drinking. 

In fact, she didn't remember doing anything after sitting there watching him work. She certainly couldn't explain falling unconscious, waking up in a room that looked like it belonged on an episode of the X Files. She couldn't explain her lack of attire or her body's weird calm despite the scrambling of her brain. Something seriously fucked up was going on.

She twisted again and scanned the room for anything recognizable. A mechanical arm folded over her head. The end dangled a cluster of filaments, not unlike those restraining her. It looked like a high-tech cat toy. As she watched, they lit up. They flashed, and a mechanism hummed to life beyond her field of vision. The arm moved, unfolding and dangling the electric threads over her face. It lowered, and Sophie tensed. She might have screamed if the drug hadn't distanced her thoughts from her body. Instead, she experienced the surge of fear but had no power to struggle or even call out. 

The ends of the toy brushed at her cheek. Tiny, soft fingers of light and fiber stroked her skin. She felt the micro bursts from each tip, electric, but not unpleasant. The arm unfolded a fraction more, and the filaments squirmed over her jaw and down along her neck. 

Little shocks tickled her, and her body reacted with pleasure. The neck had always been one of her favorite spots. Sophie leaned into the sensation and heard herself moan softly. She'd never felt anything like it. 

The arm moved again, swinging the tentacles across her chest. They spread out and she held her breath. Waiting for the inevitable with only a shadow of fear behind her anticipation. It just felt good--too good for a mind already dulled by whatever gripped her. A filament brushed her left nipple. The shock amplified in her nervous system's response, and she groaned aloud. Her back arched. The cat toy shifted to focus on the spot, as if it caught her delight and sought to please her. 

They clustered there, flicking over and around her breast until Sophie wiggled against the table and pressed her torso up into the thing, hoping to increase the contact. Her breath broke free of its spell, and she panted and gasped at each new twist, every soft shock of electric arousal. 

Her body tingled. Her sex already throbbed with want. The arm shifted position, and she had the space of two breaths to recover before it reached the other breast. The filaments explored her body, probing and electrifying her nerves. They curled up, making contact with the second nipple, and Sophie moaned and arched into the touch. 

She lifted her hips, and felt the heat racing lower, sending spasms through her center. God, what would it feel like, to have that thing touching her there, exploring and doling out little electric kisses? 

As if on cue the arm moved the device lower. The fingers explored her belly, traced firey circles over her abdomen. Sophie wiggled and shifted her legs apart to welcome it. She turned her head, angling to see better, and noticed the cameras for the first time. 

*

He watched her writhing on the table. Her mouth parted and little sounds came out, sweet, human sounds that made his genitalia pulse in time to the music of her. Sovan, shifted his weight from foot to foot, and flicked a glance to the data recorder as if he still cared about his research. 

Her mating calls tore his attention back to the viewing wall. His primary member convulsed and he was forced to brace one arm against the wall, shivering, overflowing with his own selfish needs. 

Unbiased observance. He could have choked on the term now. He didn't care what the machine found. He didn't care about the experiment, the project or even his people's future. His body wanted that. He squinted at her form, beautiful, stretching to meet the probe's sensors, and his hunger overwhelmed any sense of reason. 

He'd wanted her all along. 

She'd come to his place of employment every night. She'd watched him with eyes that burned and screamed of primitive, fiery desire. Sovan had made his choice that first evening, the first second he'd seen her. By the time the data gatherer was prepped, he'd been unable to wait any longer. He should have known he'd do something crazy. He should have expected it to get personal. 

But as she moaned and twisted on his table, he was surprised by his body's reaction. He wiped beads of fluid from his forehead, blinked, and let another spasm shiver from his sex organs all the way to the tips of his long fingers. 

He should have known he'd mess this up, and damned if he wasn't about to mess it up good.

*

Sophie screamed when the fingers found her pussy. She howled like a beast and lifted her hips high, allowing the tendrils access to her folds. Deeper access. She rocked back and forth and let the fury of sensation take her. Nothing did this. Nothing felt like this. 

The camera in the corner only made it hotter. Somebody watched her. She had no doubt about that, but their device broke through any shame or convention. It broke through everything she knew and drove her higher and higher into a realm of only nerves and pleasure and absolute hunger. She growled and bit her lip and twisted to meet the little electric tentacles. 

A panel slid aside in the wall to her right. She caught the motion as her head tossed, but only a pale blur of whoever entered the room. If she hadn't been on the verge of the mother of all orgasms, she might have felt a tickle of fear. Instead she grunted and wiggled into the feelings. 

A soft touch joined the electric one. A long finger pressed over her nipple and drew a little circle. Sophie looked up into a pair of familiar eyes. She moaned and closed hers. Her lips fashioned one word. "You," she whispered. 

She looked again. His eyes were unmistakable, cold blue with white flecks. Inhuman, she'd always thought, and she could understand why, now. The rest of him had changed. His skin glowed, milky white over chiseled muscles. His lovely face looked similar--crazy, intense eyes staring over a sharp nose and thin, delicate mouth--but the angles had increased just enough to make him absolutely alien. His hairline boasted an iridescent sprinkling of spots that trailed down, over his broad shoulders and across the chest she'd dreamed of stroking for over a week. 

An alien. She'd gone obsessive over a real, live alien. 

Sophie gasped as one of the machine's fingers found her clitoris. She felt the first wave of release building and let her eyes devour his bizarre skin. His crazy, alien, quite naked body. 

"I need you." He stated it like fact, but Sophie heard a ragged quality behind the words. His eyes flared with shared desire. 

She nodded. Her eyes latched onto the place between his legs and she moaned louder, nodded again. He had something akin to the machine down there. A central, thick organ could be labeled penile, but as she watched, it contracted and spasmed like a living thing. Her sex shivered in response. All around his fleshy member, smaller tendrils fanned out, exploring, twitching and flaring like the machine's fingers. 

Sophie watched him step down the table, her eyes fixed on his shifting sex until she burned between her legs for it. "Yes!" The machine sent a filament deep inside her. "Now, God. Hurry."

Feeling the electricity inside almost pushed her over the edge. She ground her teeth together. She wanted him, damn it. She wanted that thing between his legs in there instead. His long fingers wrapped around her thigh, and he positioned himself up on the end of the table. 

Sophie panted and fought off release, just for another moment, just long enough. 

He pushed the metal arm away, and the cat toy danced up over her torso again. She twisted and let it latch onto a breast, this time distracted by him, but the swarm of living tendrils reaching for her sex, by the central member, flexing and moving like a snake between his thick thighs. 

The little ones made contact first. They roved across her mound, invaded her lips and swirled over her clitoris. Sophie bit back a scream and watched him, his face, then his body and his odd sex organ, and back to those weird eyes. They squinted. His muscles flexed all over and his thin lips parted. A hiss came out, and she felt the first touch of his penis. 

"Oh god." She tossed her head against the sensation. It shocked her, soft, natural electricity, but a shock just the same. "Oh!" 

The flesh pulsed and wormed its way to her opening. The little fingers stroked everywhere until Sophie thought the pleasure would drive her totally mad. She lifted into him, felt the thing slide inside and heard his hiss deepen into a groan. 

"So lovely," he growled and his fingers pulled on her thighs, brought them tight together so that he loomed over her belly, a thing from outer space, an angel working and flexing inside her deepest places. 

Sophie clenched around him. She saw his body react, shiver and tighten. She couldn't hold it back any longer. Her pleasure slammed over the peak and seized through her limbs, one wave after the next backed by the zap of his internal electricity. "Now!' she screamed. "Ohhhhhh god."

He slammed into her, his arms twining around her legs and all his lovely tentacles twisting at once, jolting and showering her orgasm with sharp, electric kisses. "Yesssss," he howled. "Thissss Ahhhhhh."

It kept going. Aftershocks shook them both, and her alien pulled their bodies tighter and tighter together. Sophie's legs tried to wrap around him, but the restraints held her down. She pushed back with her hips, and felt one of the small tendrils slide downward, across her perineum to tickle her lower opening. 

Her eyes rolled back in her head. An animal sound gargled from her throat. Their united bodies spasmed and shivered together on the table. 

She struggled for breath, felt the waves begin to subside and gasped for air. Her muscles felt like liquid, soft and content beyond her wildest dreams. For now, she closed her eyes and just let the ripples wash over. The pounding in her chest quieted. She felt the weight of him lean forward across her belly, but he remained inside, still flexing, still sending sharp occasional stabs of pleasure jolting up her spine. 

At last, he made a sound, part moan and part word. Sophie lifted her head to find his eyes staring up at her. His sex twisted deeper into her womb. 

"God," she whispered. "What are you?"

"Scientist." He nodded and then hung his head, resting on her stomach. "Supposed to be doing research."

"Well, I'd say you've done one hell of a job." Sophie couldn't bring herself to feel anger at all. She'd been a test subject then, one of many she supposed, but he'd taken her on the ride of her life. 

"Not supposed to get involved." He spoke into her belly, and she barely made out the words "Corrupted the data, threatened the whole project."

"What? How's that?" 

He looked up again. God, those eyes. If he moved an inch, she'd be fucking him all over again. And right on cue, his thick tentacle pulsed inside her. Heat flared. 

"I am charged with unbiased observance," he said. "I touched, I--."

"Did a lot more than touch," Sophie finished. "You were just supposed to watch? Why?"

"We do not have female entities in the same manner of humans." He shifted his weight slightly, and she felt his organ slide a bit. His small tendrils began exploring all over, stroking and probing every inch of her sex. 

"That's a damn shame." She needed to keep him talking long enough for a second round. It sounded almost like he regretted the first one, and she wasn't ready to let it go just yet. "You don't have sex at all?"

"We have sperm receptacles," he said. His hands flexed and he pulled on her legs again, driving his member even deeper. Maybe he wasn't ready to give up either. "But, while they give us pleasure, they are not sentient. My people wish to know what it is like to give pleasure as well as receive it."

"Well, then. I think you can report back that you got an A+ in pleasure." She contracted her womb and felt her wet folds surround his penis. It flexed inside her, wiggled even, and she bit her lip. "Or maybe we should check again, just to be sure." 

"You do not wish for me to stop?" 

"Dear god, no." 

"I do not wish to stop," he said. "But I have broken the rules. The experiment is tainted, I--." She squeezed him again. All his tentacles reacted like a swarm of lovely, pulsing fingers. "I want to keep you," he said. 

He pushed against her and hissed. One of his hands moved up and his long fingers played with her breast. They found her nipple and gave it a little pinch. Sophie gasped and lifted her torso. His hands danced around her flesh while his throbbing tentacle burrowed deep inside her sex. 

"Oh god, yes." 

He wiggled against her and her legs fought the restraints. Tiny tentacles reached farther, stroked down around both her openings and shocked her nerves into renewed frenzy. 

"I think I can live with that." 

"Will you teach me?" his voice hissed hot breath across her stomach. His lips lowered and brushed against her thigh. 

"Yeah. Just wait." His penis rippled inside her, rippled, and she forgot words for a moment and just squirmed into the feeling. She'd teach him. Damn. She would. "You just wait," she said. "Until you're really ready, and then we'll get rid of these restraints." 

"Now?" 

"No." She twisted and watched him tense and flex and shiver. His skin glowed and pulsed. His penis danced inside her and she heard him start to hiss again. He wasn't ready yet. A few more dances, and then, by god, when he let her go....

Sophie imagined all sorts of lessons. But now, now her body burned again, her nerves tingled in a rain of tentacle kisses and her nipples pouted in neglect. She sighed and wiggled, and whispered, "Bring that cat toy back around, right here."

####