Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
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   A Good Deal

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   by Jean-Michel Maserati

   --------------------- Warning ====== Just to make it perfectly clear up
front.  This tale contains explicit sex scenes; if you find such
descriptions offensive, I suggest you leave the site now.  Also, if for any
reason whatsoever you should not be permitted access to this material (for
example, due to your age and/or the laws of the area where you either live
or are currently staying) then you should quit now.  I can and will take no
responsibility for any consequences if you don't.

   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 mirrorwriting 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 said 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 <i>want</i> 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...

  
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   All original work, 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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