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Message-ID: <37687asstr$1028549405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Jean-Michel Maserati" <jm_maserati@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Story - Lab Rat
Date: Mon,  5 Aug 2002 08:10:05 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

A number of my stories have been around on the ASSTR site for some time now, 
and most of them have been getting some pretty positive reactions. But it 
seems that not all that many people know about my stuff, so I'd like to post 
one to the newsgroup and see if that generates any more responses...

Title: The Laboratory Rat
Author: Jean-Michel Maserati
Codes: MF
ASSTR: name Jean-Michel, site www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/maserati/www
Contact: jm_maserati(at)hotmail.com

Précis: a biochemist walks into a lawyer's office with an unlikely story. 
The attorney has a thorny problem to answer if he wants the case. Did she 
agree to sex, or was she drugged and molested? Would it stand up in court? 
Or are there other possibilities for him?

***

Tuesday 17th, 14:55
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the movement by the door to my office. 
It's a nice old-fashioned building that my law firm uses as its downtown 
headquarters, and the doors are of a dark wood with those frosted glass 
panels in and gold-leaf lettering that always have you straining to read in 
mirror- writing from the inside. The corridor outside is kept brightly lit, 
so I could see exactly who it was before the knob turned and the door 
opened. That unkempt mass of blazing auburn hair is quite distinctive, even 
through the frosted pane.

Mary is my secretary at work. A particularly good one too, as it happens. 
Methodical, efficient, seeming always to know which things I've remembered 
and which I might need reminding of. Our relationship at work was always a 
good one, although to my regret she had never let it progress any further. 
She's one of the most attractive women I've ever met, with her 
uncontrollable mess of red hair, those astonishingly bright green eyes and a 
voluptuous figure that my male colleagues seem unable to take their eyes 
off. But she's not much more than half my age, which unfortunately seems to 
outweigh the advantages of my having a fair bit of money these days. Being a 
professional advocate and all that. So, all my approaches are always turned 
down in a good-natured fashion that lets us remain friends... and she 
carries on being my very efficient assitant. However, she's not the central 
character in this story, so I guess I should maybe try to take my mind off 
her and get back to the main thread...

As I was saying, Mary was outside the door. She came just inside the office, 
checking I had come back from my last appointment. She was wearing a some 
kind of trouser suit in one of the deep green shades which she mostly 
favors, and as usual she looked a million dollars. She thanked me for the 
compliment, but then added, "But if that's a prelude to offering me dinner 
tonight, I've got other plans."
It was said with a smile. No way could you take offense. There was no 
disappointment for me to hide - this was a constant joke between us, a 
running gag, and I was used to it by now. "One day you will, Mary, one day."

Okay, time for business. I sat back in my big swivel chair behind what I 
have to confess is an ostentatiously large oak desk and lit myself a cigar. 
Her face lost the captivating smile and went back to being its emotionless 
professional mask and she looked at an entry in the black desk diary she had 
in her left hand.
"Your three o'clock appointment is here, Dan. A Miss Stephanie Terry, 
concerning... well, she hasn't exactly made that clear, has she?"
No, she hadn't. "Sounds like she's considering bringing some kind of private 
prosecution for sexual discrimination or harrassment, or something like 
that," I offered.
"Against her employers?" queried Mary. "Let's see, she works at the 
Alder-Marshman labs just outside town. Research biochemist, it says here."
I shook my head, "No, I don't think it will be against the labs. The unions 
would probably help her out if that was the case. More likely a personal 
matter." I shrugged my shoulders. "Anyway, that's what we're here to find 
out about, I guess. Show her in, would you?"

Tuesday 17th, 15:00
The woman who followed Mary into my office was slightly built, quite tall 
and slender. Much as I know professionally that it's not the right thing to 
do, I do rather tend to go on first impressions. In this case, we were 
talking a business-like, precisely attired career woman in her early to mid 
twenties, ready for her first steps up the corporate ladder. She was 
well-dressed, wearing a pale grey pinstriped skirt and matching jacket over 
a white blouse. Nice legs too, calf muscles tautened by the neat high-heeled 
shoes, which I thought were very possibly new for the occasion. Not that I 
generally ogle my female clients, of course, but this particular woman was 
difficult to ignore. Her delicately chiselled face was youthful and very 
pretty in the English Rose kind of tradition: full of colours - a soft pale 
skin with a pink flush to the cheeks, quite a few freckles, sharply 
delineated dark eyebrows, thick chestnut brown curly hair at shoulder 
length, a wide red mouth with somewhat thin lips and the most vivid pale 
blue eyes I think I have ever seen. They were made even larger and more 
childlike by the lenses of her glasses. Oh - alright, I admit it - the 
tendency to note her appearance was increased by the mystique of knowing 
that the discussion to come was going to cover sexually laden material.
I shook her hand and got off to a bad start. "Good morning, Miss Terry. Or 
is it Mrs?"
A cold stare. "Doctor, actually."

I sat down behind my hefty fake antique desk, the young woman opposite me on 
a slightly lower chair and facing the window (the kind of little 
psychological tactics so many of us rather shorter men like to use to add to 
the impression that we're in charge). I began taking down the details, 
thinking to first get clear what it was all about, see what had happened 
that had caused her to go to her brief. Normally it would either be a chip 
on the shoulder about being passed over for promotion in favour of male 
colleagues, some grudge against her direct line management, or a litany of 
minor incidents that the other protagonists had merely classed as horseplay 
but which the victimized party regarded as being beyond the pale. However, 
Stephanie Terry's opening statement was much blunter. She claimed that she 
had been raped.

I did my best to nod and take it calmly, as if this kind of case happened in 
my little office every day of the week. She sat there opposite me in the 
pregnant pause that followed her first blunt words, blushing furiously and 
not looking me in the eye.
"That's not something you'd normally bring a private prosecution for," I 
said at length. "You should let law enforcement handle it. Why not the 
police - why do you need my advice?"
She pursed her lips and took a deep breath. "I want to know if there's a 
case to answer," she admitted. "I know it was rape, the man who did it 
knows. But I don't know the law..."
A bitten lip, a nervous swallow. And then the floodgates opened. She fired a 
barrage of questions at me, wanting me to give a legal definition of rape, 
what might count as consensual and what was non-consensual, where the law 
stood on the use of drugs, what needed to be proven and what a jury for 
example might safely assume. It was all interspersed with an overload of 
information about the work she had been involved in and the young man who 
was her assistant.
I tried to calm her down, not by questioning her about the details or by 
answering her quick-fire interrogation about the legal niceties. I got up, 
walked round the office, looked out of the window for a moment and then sat 
back down again, this time with a note-pad and pen. At first I just 
concentrated on neutral subjects: getting her name and address right, 
marital status, phone numbers, trying to set her a little at ease by getting 
her to outline some of her background. Get a feel for who I was dealing 
with. She was clearly rather nervous, despite her efforts to stay calm and 
controlled. Her hands were on the desk in front of her - pale skin, long 
fingers with no nail lacquer and no rings - and they were constantly either 
fidgeting or doodling on the blotter.

The story came out, piece by piece in a disjointed and non-chronological 
sequence full of jargon. I let her go on for five minutes or so, and then 
stopped her so that I could try to summarize it. "In the course of your work 
for your employer, you have been making a bunch of weird chemicals that are 
deliberately intended to affect the mind," I began.
Not a good start. She immediately dived into the techno-babble again, which 
might as well have been Chinese to me. "No, nothing like that. We're not 
looking for compounds that alter neural processes," she said. "We're 
synthesizing artificial pheromone structures, designed to target specific 
receptors in several regions of the brain."
"Like I said."
"No you didn't. You implied a selective development of psycho-active 
molecules, whereas we were purely looking at targeted transport 
mechanisms..."
"In layman's terms, please Dr. Terry," I said in a conciliatory tone. "To 
me, a targeted transport mechanism sounds like Pentagon-speak for a bus. 
Remember that if I don't understand you, a jury sure as hell won't." I gave 
her my best smile.
She sounded exasperated at my lack of understanding. "We're not making 
mind-benders. We're trying to find out how to get medicines for tumors to 
the right parts of the brain."
"Much better," I said. "So, it turns out that one of these heady brews turns 
out to be highly... er... what was your word? Psycho-active?"
She nodded. "Yes. And probably because it is closely related to a male 
pheromone, it seems to have an enormously exaggerated effect on females. I 
guess. Bryan's clammed up totally - won't say what he knows. Scared."
"And your assistant realized this, spiked your coffee with the stuff, waited 
for you to conk out and then proceeded to have his wicked way with you."
Another annoyed look, before she twigged that I was being deliberately 
obtuse to get her to phrase things more precisely. "No. I was conscious all 
the time."
"So, couldn't you resist? Like roofies - aware but immobilized?"
"At the time, under the influence of the drug, I did not want to resist. 
That's the problem. I've never been so horny in my entire life. We were at 
it all afternoon."
"Do you know what's worst?" she finally said. "I have to go back to the lab 
and the office every day and face him. Tell him what to do, teach him, work 
with him. And every time he smiles, I can see him thinking of me. That 
spotty-faced geek, remembering me naked beneath him."
She got up and ran out of the door.

When she came back, I showed her not to the chair opposite my desk, but to 
one of the easy armchairs next to the low table near the window. "Mary," I 
called out, "would you get us two cups of coffee please?" The taller woman 
nodded appreciatively and thanked me and sat down. I fetched my notepad and 
the little tape-recorder, which I placed openly on the table in front of me. 
She didn't object. I sat back in the comfy leather chair and took a big toke 
on my cigar. Something told me that this was going to be a lengthy 
discussion.

"Tell me in your own words exactly what happened."

Tuesday 17th, 15:20
Author's Note
What follows here is my reconstruction of what happened. She was pretty 
incoherent about it all at times, perhaps not surprisingly, so what you're 
about to read is a composite of the bits and pieces she told me at the time, 
combined with information I've gathered elsewhere. And, since this is part 
of my personal records rather than a legal document, I don't think it 
matters that there are maybe just one or two small additions purely from my 
imagination, to keep the tale moving. It might not stand up in court, but 
it's undoubtedly a pretty accurate description of events on the Friday 
afternoon nearly two weeks earlier.

Friday 6th, 08:45
Bryan is late for work today. He's been awake most of the night, unsure 
about what to do next. He knows he's made a right pig's ear of this 
assignment already: bolloxed the experiment and made a slightly different 
compound than they intended. Unreproducibly at that, given that he didn't 
know what he'd done wrong. And then he'd attempted to hide the fact from Dr. 
Terry, substituting some guesswork answers which she clearly suspected. Not 
too clever. And then to make it worse, he'd taken the stuff away in the 
pocket of his lab-coat with the intention of destroying it at his digs, 
where Stephanie wouldn't see him do it. Extremely stupid, but not nearly as 
unforgivable as actually using it on people.
He knew it might be quite powerful as a drug. After all, that was the 
intention. It smelled a little, just a peculiar slightly musty odor that 
reminded him of his father's unfashionable aftershave. Knowing how 
concentrated it was and that it was a virtually undigestible molecule that 
would go straight to the brain, he put a single drop in his beer in the hope 
that it might give him an interesting trip. Nope, makes him a bit horny, but 
that might have happened anyway. However, one of his flatmates comes in and 
takes a couple of swigs from the can; he can't help but notice that she's 
esconced in her bedroom with her boyfriend within ten minutes. Coincidence? 
Surely not - and only one way to find out. Off to the students' union bar on 
campus, buy a couple of drinks for acquaintances, put a magic drop in. And 
it works: they're sloping off together within minutes. Just unfortunately 
not with him.
Has he made a big discovery? What should he tell Dr. Terry? Would she be 
down on him like a ton of bricks for all the rules he'd broken, or would she 
be enthused with the chance discovery? Maybe, he thinks, just maybe she 
might understand better after she's tried it herself...

Friday 6th, 11:15
Nervously and for the third time this morning, Bryan uses a pipette to place 
a single drop of his solution into Stephanie's coffee. It's had no apparent 
effect on her yet, and he's getting worried. A quick sniff of the tiny 
round-bottomed flask: still just the same odor, surely it's stable? He puts 
the little glass stopper back in, pockets the phial, and hands his boss the 
cup. She thanks him without getting up from her desk.

Stephanie was feeling thoroughly confused. An hour or so ago, she had 
started feeling hot, perspiring and - to put it frankly - as randy as hell. 
She had gone to the toilet and masturbated furiously (not one of her normal 
habits) and put her pantyhose in her pocket rather than wear it again, since 
she was still so flushed and sweaty. For a short while has been able to 
concentrate on her work again. There is something odd about that last 
synthesis of Bryan's... She takes the polaroid camera she keeps on her desk 
for the purpose, and snaps a photo of the scribbles and structures on the 
whiteboard, before wiping it clean to try some new ideas.
She's got the urge again; that's why she's looking away from Bryan in 
embarrassment as he gives her the coffee. What he can't see is that 
underneath the utilitarian metal desk, she has got her legs slightly parted 
and the lab coat and skirt rucked up. Her other hand is deep inside the 
front of her panties so that her fingers can probe down and search out her 
eagerly waiting clitoris...
Amazed at the intensity of her need, Stephanie shuts her office door. She 
takes off her knickers, unbuttons her white coat and her blouse, lifts her 
halter-top up over her small but shapely breasts. Maybe it's the potential 
for embarrassment, the chance that she'll be seen, that gives her the turn 
on. She doesn't know, but she knows she is suddenly enjoying taking the 
risk. She sits back on her chair, puts her feet up on the desk and spreads 
her legs. If her student were to walk in now, he'd be treated to a glorious 
view of her... she's almost hoping he'll enter. With one hand stroking her 
breasts and the other frantically busy in her crotch, she builds herself up 
to a climax.

Friday 6th, 12:05
Lunchtime is when Bryan knows it's working. He's brought a banana for lunch, 
not a deliberate choice, and he notices that the Doc just can't take her 
eyes off it. Or him. They're sitting in the staff room along with just a 
couple of others. The usual lunchtime ritual - Davy puffing away on those 
awful mentholated cigarettes, Tammy and Elsie huddled together discussing 
boyfriends in stage whispers, the old Prof doing the crossword. When 
Stephanie leans forward to pick up her can of coke, she puts her hand on his 
knee. A casual observer would probably not notice the moment, and would be 
unlikely to think much of it anyway. But to the two protagonists, it's a 
sensually charged moment with obvious meaning. Bryan is flustered when she 
squeezes his knee and - just to be seen to do something, anything - offers 
her the banana. She does look quickly round this time to check nobody's 
looking. Then she opens her mouth and slides her red lips down suggestively 
over its length, her bright blue eyes looking up at Bryan through the brown 
curls. He nearly comes there and then, and winces painfully when she bites a 
piece off.

Can he go through with this? He wants her badly, has done since just about 
the first week he'd been working for her. To a man like Bryan, she is pretty 
much the ideal woman - attractive, intelligent, self-confident, financially 
independent. And those big eyes and the pale elegance of her slender 
frame... he thinks she is near perfect. But he has only given her the stuff 
to make her feel good, get her on his side when he confessed about the 
botched experiment. If he lets her hormones get the better of her under the 
influence of whatever trip she was on... but maybe she'll never realize? 
Maybe it will be the start of something. Maybe she'll stop seeing those men 
she sometimes hangs out with, the lawyer with the 'Vette or that guy who 
still hadn't realized you need looks more than technique to make it as a 
rock guitarist. Just maybe...
He begs one of his occasional cigarettes from Tammy and goes for a walk 
round the block.

Friday 6th, 12:25
He's a bit of a geek, she knows. She remembers having described him once as 
'that kid with the charisma bypass operation', which must have been pretty 
hurtful. So what - he's got zits on the face and neck, he's skinny and 
unprepossessing. But now she realizes that he's nice and friendly, seems 
trustworthy, generally a nice guy. Shame his clothing and appearance are 
such a style-free zone, but something can always be done about that in time. 
Right now however, she's got other things on her mind. She all but offered 
herself to him on a plate just then - and instead of suggesting they take 
the afternoon off and head off somewhere together, he's gone off to calm his 
nerves. Stephanie's need is greater than ever, so she decides there's no 
time like the present for the seduction. She'll give him a big surprise when 
he comes back to the lab.

When he resumes their preparation at his work-bench, Bryan thinks for a 
moment that the effect must have worn off. She's back helping him with the 
test tubes and the vacuum pump, busying herself with the preparations. He 
sees her bending over the bench, bare legs and white trainers under the 
white coat. No panty-hose today, doesn't she usually...
They discuss the positioning of the retort stands, but he finds himself 
noticing the thin gold chain she's wearing around her neck, with a little 
pendant hanging down between the lapels of the overall by her delicate 
collar-bones. Why hasn't he noticed that before? She wears her blouses 
buttoned up high, that's why. This one isn't visible at all. Or...
She drops a pen on the floor and makes sure as she picks it up that even the 
inexperienced Bryan gets enough of an eyeful of flesh down the front of the 
loose garment to realize the truth. Beneath it she is naked.

He sits there open-mouthed as she tears the velcro fastening open down the 
front. With her back to the door, she stands in an aggressive stance with 
her feet a little apart. She pulls the white cotton overcoat wide apart, 
letting the pale wintry afternoon sunlight drench her body. Bryan shakes his 
head gently, but his eyes are riveted on the elegant soft-skinned body 
exposed in front of him. Long slim legs, flat stomach, firm and neatly 
rounded breasts with tempting pink nipples puckering up on contact with the 
cool air. Small, but then big knockers would have looked wrong on that tall 
and slightly built frame. And a luscious growth of pubic hair trimmed tidily 
into a vertical bar, the same colour as her head, dark brown with hints of 
red glinting in the sun.
"I want never to forget this moment," is what he finally manages to say. And 
on impulse, he takes the polaroid camera that's still lying on the bench 
nearest to the whiteboard. The flash pops. "Now I won't have to."
She's totally shocked at her own brazen behaviour, but is getting a kick out 
of it all the same. The id seems to have totally taken over from the ego. 
She sees him licking his lips subconsciously as she sashays forward with her 
hips swinging deliberately and provocatively. He snaps her again. She puts a 
foot up on a stool, resting a fist on the raised knee and her chin on the 
clenched fist, revealing a tempting glimpse of pink between the pale thighs.
She comes up close to him.
"I know what you want, Bryan."
Those breasts are just inches from his face. He reaches out his hands 
tentatively, under the coat and round to her backside. There's no 
resistance.
"Come to Stephanie, Bryan." She drapes her long arms gracefully over his 
shoulders and permits him to grab her buttocks and pull her close. The 
nipples are as warm and sensitive under his mouth as he could ever have 
hoped.
"Oh," she moans, biting her lip and shutting her eyes. "That's good. But I 
think you want more, don't you?" She takes a step away to the bench opposite 
and throws the camera to him. "I've seen the photos on the net. I know what 
a nice boy like you wants me to do. But you never thought I would, did you?"

Deftly, she hops up onto the lab bench, sitting there for a moment before 
leaning back on her elbows so that she's lying posed on the worktop with her 
long legs dangling in space together. Bryan snaps away, not even daring to 
believe what's coming next. Stephanie lifts her knees up together, places 
one foot on the bench and the other on a convenient stool and splays her 
thighs wide apart. The elegance of her poise has gone; this is a crudely 
explicit display that any street hooker would have been proud of. Bryan 
drinks in the sight of this beautiful woman spreadeagling herself for him. 
He takes another half a dozen photos, until the film has run out. Stephanie 
spread wide, Stephanie's pussy close up with its crinkly pink lips and few 
stray brown curls, Stephanie working herself into a frenzy using a large 
test tube as a dildo, Stephanie's fingers parting the lips of her vagina to 
show him the nubbly pink clit that she wanted him to lick. He put the camera 
aside and eagerly obliges, probing at the little knob of flesh with his 
tongue and lips. Despite his lack of expertise, she is so uninhibited that 
he soon brings her panting to the edge of ecstasy.
"I want you in my cunt," she says. "Now. On the bench. Here."
Then he realizes that he's on the verge himself. In about five seconds flat, 
he rips the velcro of his own gown open, unbuttons his jeans before dropping 
them and his boxers to his knees. No holding back - he just rams his 
erection straight into her waiting vagina. She's so wet and ready that his 
lack of subtlety doesn't matter. She locks her ankles together behind his 
ass, almost hauling him into herself. Within seconds, they're squirming and 
writhing as both search for purchase to let him thrust ever deeper and more 
vigorously into that splendid torso until suddenly she's squealing 
delightedly in an intense orgasm, while Bryan is standing there open-mouthed 
and wide-eyed as he comes monstrously inside her.

When they finally relax and withdraw, the overalls have velcroed themselves 
to each other somehow. And he's still got his pants round his ankles, so 
inevitably they end up on the floor in a tangled heap. Stephanie is on top. 
She discovers to her surprise that she's still not satiated, and so it's 
only natural that she should straddle him and guide his already revitalized 
erection into her snatch... there is definitely a long way to go before this 
fuck session is over.

Friday 6th, 18:30
"Oh, Stephanie," he blurts out suddenly. "I'm so sorry."
She stretches her lithe body languidly, inviting him to perform again. But 
something is wrong. He is in tears. Grabbing his lab-coat, his overcoat and 
the polaroids, Bryan scurries off and dashes down the corridor.

Tuesday 17th, 16:40
My advice, inevitably, was that there would be no case to answer unless she 
could come up with some kind of proof. Without physical evidence, the whole 
thing sounded a bit too much like magic and would undoubtedly be laughed 
straight out of court. It was too late for any kind of forensic testing, 
which would in any event have not been able to shed much light on the 
non-consensual nature of the act. Or otherwise. And although the student in 
question, this Bryan, had admitted it to her face-to-face and apologized 
unreservedly, he apparently claimed not only that he had no idea exactly 
what he had done wrong in order to create the substance but also that he had 
in a panic made sure that the rest of the batch had been incinerated.

There was nothing to be done about it. All I could do was tell her to try to 
forget it, pretend it was a bad dream, find another lab if she had to. 
Stephanie stood up, tears still in her eyes, and thanked me politely for at 
least believing her story. Then she shook my hand formally before leaving 
the office. Again, I couldn't help noticing those shapely slender legs as 
she walked over to the door. This Bryan was definitely a lucky guy.

I opened my briefcase and re-read my notes from the little chat I'd had with 
him yesterday. He had been desperately worried about the possibility of 
charges being brought, being all too aware of the fact that Stephanie would 
never have looked twice at him under normal circumstances. Furthermore, 
being only a fairly junior researcher, he definitely didn't have the 
resources to finance any kind of legal battle. So he had been more than 
amenable to the suggestion that I would ensure it never went any further, as 
long as he made sure the synthesis method for the pheromone was never 
written up. The price being that he handed over the evidence to me for 
destruction, including the rest of his supply.

I flicked through Bryan's polaroids showing his naked boss spreading herself 
in a variety of poses. Then I looked at the little phial in the palm of my 
hand and considered the options. Like I said at the beginning, my secretary 
is a very pretty redheaded young woman who I've fancied for a long time...

***

Copyright (C) J.M.Maserati, 2001. May be freely disseminated for 
non-commercial purposes as long as the author is clearly identified and 
copyright stated.



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