It was just one... (Bevatoria and skittish_butterfly)

[skittish_butterfly]

As Elizabeth reached her station she finally saw Grant come in the door, looking almost ridiculous in his goggles and lab coat. The goggles were mandatory for some of the hazardous activities in the lab, most of which he was in charge of, but he was just about the only one who wore the lab coat. Most of the students working under him would feel silly in one, like they were playing dress up. But Grant seemed to think it made him look in charge. Elizabeth imagined herself someday being in charge, wearing the coat and everyone turning to her when she came in like they did to Grant. But on him, at least in Elizabeth's eyes, it looked ridiculous. Grant should not be the one in charge. The idea of him calling the shots was like one of life's bad jokes she couldn't even laugh at it was so bad.

She tried to ignore him as he walked by, turning to face her experiment, but somehow all of her attention on the sound of his footsteps walking past. Had she really been on the phone with him? Let him... hear that? Had he heard? Her face was burning red, but she was finding it harder and harder to sit still the more she thought about it. The memory of crying out like that while he listened, her body rocked with pleasure and Grant... knowing it... Elizabeth shuddered, hoping he wasn't looking at her. Elizabeth ran shaky fingers through her hair as she turned to look at him, brushing it back behind her ear. No. Focus on the work, she told herself.

But she couldn't. She ruined two more test tubes of substrate while her mind just thought about what it had felt like, naked on her floor, utterly letting go, her mind playing over and over that moment of his voice telling her, Cum Elizabeth. Her eyes closed as she heard it again in her head, Cum Elizabeth, and her cries of pleasure. Couldn't stop thinking about it, finding herself squirming on the lab chair in a way that had her totally embarrassed and glancing around the lab to make sure no one was looking the moment she managed to get her eyes open.

Flushed and shaky, she dashed off in the direction of the restroom. She couldn't work like this, it was impossible. Just short of the restroom door, though, she stopped and looked back to his station. She remembered how it felt the night before once more, shuddered as his voice played in her memory alone, Cum Elizabeth. Oh God, no, but she needed it. She reached for the door knob, then pulled her hand back. Indecision played across her face, but need won out.

She walked toward his station with slow jittery steps, until she was right behind him, watching him work. Cum Elizabeth. She heard it again, aching so inside and feeling like she must be soaking her tight jeans she needed to feel it again so bad.

"Grant?" Her voice soft, embarrassed, like a little mouse. She hoped he wouldn't hear her, she would just turn away and go back to her station and suffer with it all afternoon, getting nothing done but at least preserving her dignity. Or she could slink off to the stall again and try and try, but she knew already she needed more than her own fingers. She felt it deeply in every soft little damp spot in her body. Cum Elizabeth. How could she go on? But she couldn't... not again, not... need won out again.

"Grant." Just a little louder, risking him actually hearing her. She ran her fingers through her hair again. "Please, I... I... I need..." She said the word 'need' like it was meaningful, like she needed him to know she had needs. "I really need... to go to the bathroom. Do I have your... your... uh...permission?" Oh God her face was bright red and her heart pounding and her mind playing his voice over and over... Cum Elizabeth, Cum Elizabeth. Somehow having his permission had stuck in her head from that party, something in that moment, that night, and now she felt trapped by it, but drawn to it as well, remembering how it had felt for him to give her permission, to tell her to cum, how she'd screamed. She ached for his permission, praying she could get to the stall in time to act on it before the glow wore off.

She would bring her cell phone in case it did, in case she had to call him to ask again.

 

[Bevatoria]

Grant looked at her from his own work area, taking in as much as he could in an inconspicuous glance before getting back to his own tasks. As much as he wanted to play the domineering, suave male, able to read Elizabeth's mood and tells with just one glance, it wasn't him. When Shakespeare had said 'to thine own self be true', he was proving the statement right here. Even if he hated literature; it was why he'd gotten into the sciences in the first place. Working with the theoretical on a day to day basis, much like he was here.

He couldn't read her subtle body language, her squirming, or the way she kept glancing at him. It wasn't as if it meant nothing to him. It was reinforcing that the cookies were working on her, what it was doing to her body, shaping and manipulating her into some sort of a tool for his perverse pleasure. But to know the exact cues, to have any inkling of what she was really thinking behind her obvious need and awkwardness, that wasn't him. Grant was in control, but it didn't mean he was the calm, cool pilot at the controls.

Apparently Elizabeth couldn't be calm and cool either as she dashed out of the room. It wasn't uncommon, as even those working in the lab came and went how they pleased. For as much as many didn't like working under him, as long as they got the work done, he didn't really care when or how. If anything, what looked like apathy from him with regards to the supervisory aspects of his job didn't always play well with driven, determined students. Especially ones like Elizabeth.

Especially the one. Back to his own task, something that seemed so monotonous compared to what he'd been doing the night before. The day before, preparing his cookies for her, seeing her eat them, hearing her fall under his spell. Just another trial run to determine the effectiveness of a certain compound. Boring.

A soft voice broke him out of it.

"Grant?" He assumed she'd say more, clarify what she wanted. It was Elizabeth's voice, as if he'd ever forget it's timbre and clarity after last night. No matter how she spoke now, when she spoke he'd always hear her moaning, screaming, begging like she did over the phone last night. After a moment, there was more. "Grant." Turning to her, he saw a bedraggled Elizabeth run her fingers through her hair. "Please, I... I... I need..."

She needs. He visibly perked at her unintentional emphasis on the word.

"I really need... to go to the bathroom. Do I have your... your... uh...permission?"

Grant blinked. Had his formula overwritten more then just her desire for release? He had only hoped to control one aspect of her life, not all of them, and even as he kept his voice even, the confusion was apparent in his expression. "You can go to the bathroom whenever you like."

Again, he missed a cue. The blush on her face, the clear hesitation and uncertainty in her body language, should have told him exactly what it was Elizabeth meant when she said 'go to the bathroom'. But he wasn't that guy. Definitely not for every woman that crossed his path, even if the amount of interaction with Elizabeth might eventually allow him to pick up on hints that might not be apparent to many. As he saw her response, both verbal and no verbal, his head inclined in understanding. His face sharpened in response as he picked up on exactly what it was she 'needed'.

A smile didn't seem appropriate, but it would be easy to see that he was getting more comfortable in his own skin as he responded. "Oh. Oh...." Words of understanding. "In that case...." It would have been ample humiliation to send her off like that, not the way he had intended (but what experiment ever worked precisely to plan anyways?). He drew out the moment, watching her body's reactions, the near pleading her eyes seemed to be doing with him, and Grant slowly folded his arms.

"There will be two conditions." Ones that might or might not take without the potency of the cookie. "I'll expect to see you after class for this indulgence." Another chance for a cookie, or more humiliation. He only hoped this need wouldn't eventually destroy her, or at the very least he could enjoy it when it did. He might have to alter the formula somehow, and he made a mental note to take a closer look at the recipe tonight.

Condition one. And the second....as much as he tried to convince himself he was just doing his own experiment, setting a new condition and stimuli to see how she'd react, as he spoke the words he knew the truth of why he was really asking her to do this, taking care to lower his voice.

"The second is that you will go to the men's room if you really want to cum."

The truth was that a little revenge was too hard to resist.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

He said it wrong! That was Elizabeth's first momentary panic. "You can go to the bathroom whenever you like." The words didn't feel right as they rattled around inside her. She stood and stared back at Grant, like there had to be more. There had to be. She jammed her fists into the pockets of her jeans, feeling the fabric pull even tighter around her hips, showing him she wasn't going away so easily, not until...

"Oh. Oh...." Did he understand now? Please... "In that case...." Grant seemed to be thinking, like he did understand, and Elizabeth almost moaned with relief. He folded his arms and turned on her fully, looking at her like a specimen under a microscope, ripe for analysis. It made Elizabeth feel very small and her face turned even a brighter shade of pink.

Conditions. What? Conditions? "Fine," she muttered under her breath, her eyes telling him "whatever" and to just get on with it. He wanted to see her after class, like it was some payment for this big favor he was doing her. It was stupid. Petty. Arrogant. She nodded, agreeing to it immediately. "Fine, fine! I'll come see you. After..."

Elizabeth was bumping her hip and bottom against the corner edge of the workstation next to him in a rhythm she didn't notice as Grant made her wait out his conditions. Why did he have to talk so slow, so deliberately?

Then he gave the second condition. Out loud, like in a normal voice. And even as every nerve ending in her body cried out to hear the word cum in Grant's voice, Elizabeth was mortified by what he said, and the way he said it: "The second is that you will go to the men's room if you really want to cum."

Elizabeth wanted to shriek, wanted to smack him and slap him, just like the horrible night at the party when he started this whole situation. "Grant! Will you keep your voice d..." She looked around, but then a sudden look of surprise stopped her words cold as a moist stirring of intense warmth blossomed inside her. Elizabeth glanced back at him and started to say, "Th-th-thank y..." but then dashed off in the direction of the restrooms.

As she half-walked, half-jogged across the lab Elizabeth saw Crawford get up at bench 13 ahead of her, wiping some goo from his hands on a paper towel and looking up with disgust. Even in her agitated, jittery mental state Elizabeth realized the goo must not be toxic or he'd be in the emergency shower already but it certainly was gross, and she momentarily wondered what he was researching as she came closer to pass him.

Not that she would have stopped to ask -- at least not until she was on the way back from the bathroom, not now though -- but he stepped out into the walkway between the stations, blocking her way, and made a dash for the same restrooms she was aiming for. Crawford jerked open the men's room door, leaving a big gooey slimy mess on the handle, and slipped inside.

As the door closed pneumatically shut behind him, she caught a glimpse of him at the sink scrubbing madly. Then it was closed, leaving Elizabeth standing on the carpeted hallway between the two doors, hands stroking up and down on denim covering both her thighs. Her mind played back his words. The men's room? Had he really said that? She was sure he had, and reviewing it in her mind, hearing his voice tell her to go to the men's room if she really wanted to cum made her shiver with disgust, but also started that other tape in her head, the needier one, playing Cum Elizabeth over and over.

Not with Crawford in their, no way. And not with the slime on the handle, not til Crawford cleaned up after himself. She grabbed the handle to the women's bathroom and slipped inside. How she wished she could just lock the door, but at least no one was inside. Ignoring the desperate look in her eyes as she passed the mirror, Elizabeth went straight to the third of the three stalls, the one in the back corner, "her stall" as she thought of it in that moment. With the door latched, she fumbled with her jeans until shaky fingers had them open and down around her ankles, her panties coming down along for the ride as she wasn't careful or delicate about it.

Even before she got herself seated, Elizabeth's fingers were already between her legs, feeling how wet the soft curly hair was there, how hot she was. She couldn't quite stroke as freely as her heart desired, as it *needed*, not standing up, not with her pants wrapped around both ankles.

Seated, she spread her knees and her head went back as she could hear the wet sounds, the stroking rhythm, her breath coming faster. Instead of trying to ignore Grant and get him out of her head like she knew she probably should, her mind played his words over and over, "Cum Elizabeth," and "go to the men's room if you really want to cum" and "see you after class," but more and more it was just Cum Elizabeth, her own lips moving along with his words in her memory, whispering it to herself. She bit her lip to force herself to be quiet and her brow furrowed desperately, her body bucking and writhing and almost convulsing with every stroke on the toilet seat.

Something wasn't right. So close, that frustration. But he gave her permission, just like last night! Elizabeth moaned and stroked harder, but it just made her more frustrated, aching deeper. She kicked off her shoes so she could slide her jeans off her ankles, until her legs were totally bare and exposed, only the shirt on. Now she could open her legs properly, drawing her knees up, one bare foot against the side stall wall as her body took over, knowing what she needed. Her fingers were a wet blur between her legs, circling again and again, stroking her clit, dipping between the heat of her lips. Her head was back, neck tense and an almost pained look on her face as she struggled to reach it. Cum Elizabeth, Cum Elizabeth, dammit Cum Elizabeth! She wanted to cry it was so unbearable.

Her whole body shook and she couldn't stop stroking even as her brain struggled to figure what was wrong. Sweating and breathing harder than she had since the day they made her try to run a mile out on the athletic field in high school for some test, Elizabeth couldn't think of anything. Nothing. Her brain was empty, just spinning wildly like a powerful engine stuck in neutral. Cum Elizabeth. She had his permission, why couldn't she cum? Why didn't it work again. Cum Elizabeth, she heard his voice. Grant's voice.

"Oh God." She heard her voice echo in the room and she immediately bit her lip again. She took her foot down from the side of the stall and reached down to her pants, pulled out her phone with slippery wet fingers, almost dropping it. She was getting a mess on the phone, but she couldn't care about that now.

Even as she dialed Elizabeth's legs opened, her foot back up on the side of the stall where it felt so good. Once she'd dialed with her right hand, she held it to her ear in her left and let her right hand return to the work only it could do. It rang, and rang, and rang. Then he picked up. Elizabeth spoke softly, almost a whisper, afraid someone would hear. Her teeth were chattering as if she was cold even though she was so very hot, and she felt like she was swallowing half her words. "Grant... I'm... I'm s-stuck... p-please, last n-night you... I'm in the b-b-bathroom..." she didn't want to say which one, but realized she was perfectly justified coming in here, "the w-w-girl's room... stupid Crawford was in the m-men's room, big m-mess...Grant, p-p-please, help me... tell me again, l-l-like last night... that worked, p-please?" Fingers a blur.

 

[Bevatoria]

Elizabeth wanted to shriek, wanted to smack him and slap him, just like the horrible night at the party when he started this whole situation. "Grant! Will you keep your voice d..."

"I was." He replied calmly as he looked around with her, now somewhat fearful of getting caught himself. "We're just a lab instructor and a student discussing something, and nothing more...."

Something in his look seemed to spur her on, and Elizabeth responded. "Th-th-thank y..." But she didn't even finish her statement as she walked briskly out of the room. His gaze lingered on her on the way out, and he spotted Crawford attempting to clean up a mess he'd made; despite himself, Grant shook his head. Careless fool. Another batch ruined. Grant knew his own limitations, and was always deliberate enough to get something out of his experiments, even his failed one; Crawford had been too fast and too eager.

Unwittingly, he had thrown more then one wrench into Grant's plans, but he didn't think of that as he got back to his own work. Small, deliberate movements, careful details as he scrawled down another note to try to decipher later. The lab was fairly quiet, with only a few others in at this late time of day aside from Elizabeth and Crawford, who had left the room. He got so lost in his work that he didn't hear the cell phone ring until the second one or so, and he looked up in annoyance.

The few confused looks he got back from across the room told him that it was actually his phone that was ringing. Backing away deliberately from his station, he took off his goggles and reached into his jeans pocket to pull out the annoying little device. Not really annoying, but it was right now. "Hello?"

The voice in response made him do two thing. "Grant... I'm... I'm s-stuck... p-please, last n-night you... I'm in the b-b-bathroom..."

One was to raise the volume so he could hear her - it sounded like she was whispering. "Where are you exactly?" A generic enough statement that he could be responding to anyone, and not one of his students who was trying to masturbate at his command. He walked briskly towards the small office/closet at the back of the room.

"the w-w-girl's room... stupid Crawford was in the m-men's room, big m-mess...Grant, p-p-please, help me... tell me again, l-l-like last night... that worked, p-please?"

He couldn't hear as much as he had the night before, but still Grant felt his pulse racing as he briskly walked inside, shutting the door behind him. Now they were both isolated, given the privacy they wanted even as he idly wondered if he'd still get reception in here. Grant wasn't getting much time to think things through, only that she needed something from him desperately, maybe he should just be rational, let her off the hook, give her permission...

But she'd slapped him. Insulted his party. Talked down to him for years due to the benefit of her parentage. And now she wasn't working within the depraved conditions he'd set for her?

"Are you asking me for leniency after you disobeyed me, Elizabeth?" Even in the small room he was in, he took care to keep his voice low even as his anger raised up. "You've left the lab a couple of times now today. You should be punished for it." Small words that lit up a fire in him; talking down to her, putting her down like she'd done to him.

"I didn't ask you if Crawford was in there. You're a naughty girl, and naughty girls don't get to choose when and where they cum." A filthy word that was getting less and less so every time it exited his mouth. "You're so desperate for it, aren't you...willing to do anything to get it right now...."

"But obviously you don't want it that badly if you don't want to listen to me." He sighed contemptuously. "If the sound of my voice turns you on so badly, then get yourself together, wait for Crawford to leave - or don't - get into a stall, and I'll give you exact instructions. Otherwise, you can wait until after the lab session is over and talk to me then."

He didn't hang up, wanting to hear her answer. Even as he strained to hear the debased sounds of her fingering herself, any soft moans or groans at his command.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Elizabeth groaned into the phone as Grant's words were no help. "Leniency? I just need you to help me..." But Grant wasn't even listening, like he didn't even care what kind of hell he'd somehow tossed her into that night, a pit of misery she was still stuck in. Disobedience. Punishment. Grant had gone nuts, talking to her like some fire and brimstone preacher. Like some cruel slave driver. It was crazy, but still she couldn't bring herself to end the call or slow the slippery frenzy of her desperate fingers. So close, if Grant would just stop being a such a jerk. She could feel it, his power to give her what she needed, but he was such an ass.

Why was Grant ignoring her needs like this? All this talk about disobedience and punishment, it was ridiculous! What had she done to him? She was the victim in this, Grant was the one who started this whole thing. He owed her. All she needed him to say was... ohhh, just... just Cum Elizabeth. Elizabeth's eyelids fluttered just imagining his voice telling her to cum again, like last night, remembering the explosion, the relief.

But as he kept going in that low, intense, angry tone, all he could talk about was everything he thought she'd done wrong, blaming her even for leaving the lab too much. She tried to let her outrage loose on him but all that came out was a weak little moan. It was like even though he wasn't helping her in the least -- making everything so much worse in fact -- Elizabeth couldn't help reacting to the sound of his voice on the phone, the memory of him telling her to... to. So long as Grant was talking to her, even if he was scolding her like a disobedient child, at least he was still there, and she was still so close, if she could just get him to...

She couldn't help moaning again as he switched to the problem with Crawford in the men's room. Grant didn't understand at all. It wasn't even funny, not a joke to make her go in there to... to cum, but blaming her? When it was Crawford's fault? And Grant's fault too? Elizabeth's slender body was shaking, and not just from the overwhelming need, her muscles aching and trembling for release. She was shaking with fury at the way Grant was treating her.

He called her a naughty girl and she gasped. It was just demeaning to talk to her like that. But then he said it again, telling her naughty girls don't get to choose where and when they cum, and Elizabeth's head rolled back at the thought of being a naughty girl, something about Grant and cumming too powerful for her to bear. It felt too close to the truth of what her frustrated, feverish body was feeling already. She didn't have any choice. How she ached for it, needed it more than anything she could remember for some strange reason, but nothing she did brought her closer. Elizabeth closed her eyes tight, dipping a finger inside herself and coming out so slick, thinking through the possibility she might be a naughty girl like he said, since he was right about her having no choice. It didn't make sense, but nothing made sense to her.

His words went on, like he was taunting her need, totally aware of it but letting her suffer. She was nodding as he stated the obvious to her on the phone, how desperate she was, how she was willing to do anything to get what she needed, nodding and hunching her shoulders and panting like she was running a marathon. The fact he couldn't see her nodding didn't even dawn on her.

Grant made her panicked heart skip a beat, "But obviously you don't want it that badly if you don't want to listen to me." She heard his sigh and whispered into the phone, as best she could, "No Grant, please, p-please, I do want it that badly, I'll, I'll listen, please just t-t-tell me." Tell me. Cum Elizabeth. Why wouldn't he just say it? She was close to tears.

Maybe he heard her. At least his tone changed ever so slightly, but Elizabeth noticed the change immediately, her senses so alert to his voice, the sound of it, his mood or disapproval. He still wouldn't give her what she needed, and she couldn't find a way to take it for herself, but at least there was hope in his words: "If the sound of my voice turns you on so badly, then get yourself together, wait for Crawford to leave - or don't - get into a stall, and I'll give you exact instructions. Otherwise, you can wait until after the lab session is over and talk to me then."

Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of trying to get Crawford out of the men's room, or of going in there herself. How could she? But she didn't know if she would last until the lab session was over. By the time he was ready to talk to her there might be nothing left of her but a warm little puddle around the base of the toilet. "Grant, please... I can't... that's too long... and..."

But Grant didn't answer, didn't give her what she needed.

The options bounced around in her head. Either brazen her way into the men's room, or melt like a snow-slut in July waiting for Grant.

She groaned, keeping the phone open, just in case he changed his mind. She put it on speaker and set it on the floor, using all the will power she had left to slow and then stop her fingers. She could feel the bare skin of her legs shining with perspiration, and brushed her damp hair out of her eyes. What could she do? She had no choice. Elizabeth dislodged her foot from side wall, noting the small sweaty imprint she'd left, and put her legs back on the floor. Her knees were trembling and her fingers clutched her thighs, but she had to do it.

Her jeans and panties were half way into the other stall and as Elizabeth fumbled for the jeans her panties ended up out of reach. She couldn't deal with it and just left them under the adjoining toilet. She could come back for them later. Slipping into the jeans was excruciating, the rough material against her super-sensitized softness made her gasp and wriggle with delightful agony. Once her shoes were back on her feet she didn't even wait to tie them. She just opened the stall and stepped out on shaky legs, looking at her red face in the mirror. A few strokes of her fingers -- the ones on her left hand, that didn't smell like a bordello that is -- through her hair helped, but a splash of cool water on her face did nothing to lower her heat.

She plucked her phone from the floor and whispered to it. "Don't you dare go away, Grant. I'm doing what you said. Don't you dare go away. And don't you dare call me a naughty girl." Elizabeth almost stumbled as her mind connected with Grant's voice, naughty girls don't get to choose when and where they cum. She wanted to cum. "Please don't call me a naughty girl, again." She shivered, not wanting that to be true of her, not sure she could take that.

The door opened with a squeak that was 100 times too loud in her ears, but nobody at the nearby workstations seemed to notice. Elizabeth crept two silent steps across the hall, best she could, and pushed open the men's room door, the fact the goo was off the door knob making her heart pound hopefully that Crawford was...

He was still there, shirt off exposing his fleshy midsection as he scrubbed away at a vile shirt stain. At least he'd taken care of the door knob. Yay. He turned and looked at her, and she yipped softly in embarrassment and slipped right back out, fleeing back to her sanctuary in the girl's room.

She paced manically. Options. Go back to her workstation and ruin more experiments until her clothes were soaked through from sweat and worse while she waited. No. Not possible. She wasn't even sure her legs would get her there at this point without leaning on everyone she passed.

Option, stay here. Wait him out in here. She looked in the mirror, trying to see in her own eyes if she could make it, leaning closer until she just rested her hot cheek against the cool glass, closing her eyes while her hips straddled the corner of the sink and started grinding. How could she last? There was no way. She had to get Crawford out, or, or just ignore him.

She pushed away from the mirror, dismounting the sink with a groan and a shiver, and went back in the hall. What little courage she had, whatever sense of superiority and authority she still had from being her father's daughter, she summoned it up, and then burst through the men's room door. "Crawford, g-get out. The, uh, the girl's room is, uh, f-f-flooded. A p-pipe. Get out."

Crawford just glared at her. "Fuck off. Go use your daddy's executive washroom if it's so urgent." He turned back to his soapy shirt with a smirk, as if being mean to her somehow made his own troubles lessen.

Elizabeth's eyes looked around the men's room, the urinals, the stalls, Crawford. She said it loud enough so hopefully Grant would hear, in a stilted tone so her words would be clear over the phone. "Fine. I'm just going to use the men's room anyway then, Crawford."

It took her fingers multiple fumbling tries to pry open the third stall, farthest away from Crawford. As she closed the door she could see his reflection in the mirror over the sink, staring at her, his eyebrows really high. Elizabeth tried to be silent as she kicked out of her untied shoes, and then wriggled out of her jeans with a soft gasp. She could see the little glistening spot she'd made in just that short time, but there was nothing to do about it. Maybe she could use the sink and soap after Crawford was done with his shirt.

She sat on the toilet and spread her legs, this time hooking her bare right foot over the paper dispenser. Taking the phone off speaker and moving her fingers as slowly and quietly as she could, she whispered to Grant. "I'm in the... the men's room. Please." She couldn't risk saying anymore, not with Crawford just outside.

 

[Bevatoria]

She answered faster then he'd expected, all things considered, her lack of breath confirming, what he'd already thought. "Grant, please... I can't... that's too long... and..."

Grant let the silence linger. He was on a timetable, too, and was taking a risk by letting the situation continue. It should've been embarrassing enough to make her cum in the woman's restroom, in nothing but her shirt (not that he was aware of it), but this little game was pushing into the darkest, deepest corners of Grant's mind. This tiny little bit power over this young woman was making him into something that was not good, not pure, not someone that could be trusted with any kind of biological manipulation.

On the other hands, trustworthy people never had this much fun.

Angry words came from his phone. "Don't you dare go away, Grant. I'm doing what you said. Don't you dare go away. And don't you dare call me a naughty girl." A moment, and she spoke again. "Please don't call me a naughty girl, again."

Two different tones. One demanding, one desperate, as if she was realizing the full extent of her situation. "Not if you don't deserve it.". He responded coldly, and meekly if that were possible. It was a misleading, ambiguous statement. He'd call her it the second he wanted to, should it suit him.

But how much of this was sticking with her? Grant hadn't made a long term plan for her addiction to his cookies and her need to cum, and twice in less then a day, while not a lot in a random sample, could be an ominous sign for the future. What if the need increased with more cookies, more conditions, more orders? It was one thing to be more desperate for it, but if she actually had to keep sneaking out to masturbate, to cum, then he had a problem.

Even what was happening here. One random event in a year, a month, or in a week wouldn't draw attention. But if Elizabeth was continually going into the men's room to do things, if Grant kept on sneaking out to take calls...if he kept getting calls when Elizabeth snuck out...it wasn't as if someone would put all of the pieces together at once. But that was the point. They wouldn't have to put all of them together. Just enough to draw suspicion on him, or her.

What would a medical examination show? Or a psychological one? What if he'd left traces in the lab? Left a diagram out somewhere that someone was peaking at? Grant was listening to Elizabeth sneaking around, but the sounds weren't precise, and his own mind kept him from piecing together exactly what was happening. He thought he heard a male voice, the sound of a door closing, a bit of rustling and shuffling, and then....

The sound of a button being hit drew him back. "I'm in the... the men's room. Please." Away from the uncertain bore, back to the tyrant. Grant had to treat this like his only chance. Still, he drew it out, listening to her, trying to tell if she was masturbating like she was before.

"Would you like the same words as last night?" He asked easily, like a shop owner asking a kid if they would like candy. "Is that what you are longing for, Elizabeth?"

Another moment, to listen to her words. "Is Crawford still there?" Her answer was shorter, and his time to response shorter as well.

"If you want the same words as last night, Elizabeth, then I want you to be the same as well." His voice went deep and dark, almost husky with dark desire. "Everything off." As if there was any doubt in what he meant. "Now."

The control and humiliation he was exercising over her was intoxicating, and he waited. Whether she would obey him or not, it was all about where she was, who could hear, who was listening to her. His own cock hardened again, and he growled knowing that he couldn't relieve it like he did last night. "Are you ready, Elizabeth?" He breathed, and Grant wondered who it was that was really being controlled.

"Cum, Elizabeth. Don't hold back." He felt his manhood twitch, and he listened to his phone intently, hoping that she'd be the only one with a mess when all was said and done.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Elizabeth's left hand held the phone so tight to her ear, aching to hear the words from him she just knew in her heart would set her free. Cum Elizabeth. She could actually hear the sounds of her fingers stroking her clit getting wetter just from thinking about his words, and she struggled to slow her caresses, firm but not fast, trying so hard to keep quiet with Crawford still right outside the stall scrubbing his filthy shirt.

Grant finally spoke, leaving her tingling with expectation on every word. Was this it? But not yet. Like he was teasing her. Like he knew she needed him, a chance to get back at her. She almost regretted having brushed him off so easily now that her needs were so firmly in his hands, wondering if this was how he had felt to want and be left wanting. Grant strung her along, making her want, leaving her wanting, just asking her what he obviously already knew: "Would you like the same words as last night?" He sounded like he was even enjoying it, feeling this power over her, and Elizabeth couldn't help wondering what was wrong with her, to just be handing this control to him. "Is that what you are longing for, Elizabeth?"

As hard as she was trying to keep quiet, and as much as she knew Grant was just toying with her, she couldn't stop the soft whimper. Her eyes closed, thinking the words. Longing for them. He knew it. Dammit he knew it. Her reply a whisper, all the breath she could muster, and all the noise she thought she could risk with Crawford still nearby. "Yes, Grant, yes... please, please."

But he was silent, as if she should say more, as if there was some mysterious word more magical than please that she just didn't know. But she couldn't say anymore, her breath used up and the sound of Crawford's scrubbing pausing for a second, as if he heard something. Grant must sense it, read her thoughts and fears somehow. "Is Crawford still there?" Elizabeth nodded weakly, a second of silence passing before she remembered Grant wasn't actually right there looking at her, and then she whispered her single word of reply into the phone.

Grant's voice picked up, the questioning tone gone and Elizabeth felt her muscles going taut in anticipation, her leg pressing against the side of the stall just a little more firmly as her body felt what must be coming. But not yet, so close as her fingers stroked wet and slow around her clit. First he had more conditions, as if trying to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt he was such a jerk he didn't deserve the power over her needs that she was inexplicably handing him. "If you want the same words as last night, Elizabeth, then I want you to be the same as well." He sounded almost as turned on as she was, hard as it was to believe. "Everything off. Now."

Everything? She thought of herself naked. Completely naked, like last night, lying on the floor and cumming while he listened on the phone, how she screamed and rolled around on the floor, her body leaving little traces of sweat on the hard wood. She couldn't. No way she could let herself scream like that, not with Crawford here, not with the whole lab right outside the door just around the corner. And no way she could be totally naked here. Not here, in a public restroom. A men's room!

But Grant was waiting, silent, not saying the words he knew she needed, the words he could say so easily if he felt like it. Why was he so cruel to her? Wasn't it enough revenge for him already? Elizabeth bit her lower lip, stifling the little moan of frustration that threatened to come out. After a slow deep breath she gave in. It was just a tshirt. She was practically naked already, what was the difference, and with the stall door closed what would it matter?

The phone had to go for a second, and she perched it on the toilet seat between her wide open thighs, not bothering to put it on speakerphone this time. She held her position, so ready she didn't think she could unspread her legs even if the firealarm went off. With her leg still up and hooked on the dispenser, she hooked her shirt with both hands, one of them shockingly damp, and she tugged it up and off with a little gasp, and then let it fall to the floor.

Not having been careful enough, though, the shirt feel forward a little and then slid lightly on the tile until it was peeking halfway out the stall door. Erin felt a momentary panic and tried rearranging herself a little on the toilet to reach down for it, but that just bumped the phone with her bare pussy and knocked it clattering to the floor too. She bent down and snatched the phone back up, but it was too late to reach for her shirt. The sound of Crawford scrubbing outside went silent as Elizabeth put the phone back to her ear. "Sorry," she said out loud for Crawford's benefit, with a little nervous hitch in her voice. Then she turned back to her whisper, trying so hard to ignore Crawford, wishing the sound of the scrubbing would start again. "Ok," she whispered with silent urgency. "I did it, ok? I did it, now will you..."

But Grant had heard her, already talking again, asking if she was ready. She nodded again and again, so very ready, feeling her loose hair trailing down her bare back move with each dip of her head. "Cum, Elizabeth. Don't hold back."

Those were the words. Memory merging with need, her fingers suddenly stroked with confidence, the knowledge she could reach it, feeling his permission flowing through her like a jolt of pure pleasure. Cum Elizabeth. Her head went back and she felt it coming like a tidal wave ready to wash everything away and leave nothing of her behind, too strong to contain or control or hold back. She whispered a sudden scared, "oh no, oh no oh god" and then it wasn't a whisper but she couldn't stop. Her awareness imploded and all fears and thoughts stopped in an instant, replaced with the white light of ecstasy, her body shuddering and bucking on the toilet seat as she stroked and stroked. The sound of the stall walls shaking as her foot spasmed with each wave of pleasure and her helpless cries of pleasure, not screamed, but too much to swallow down. Sounds, all hers. Nothing else mattered. The sounds of her joy finally released, moaned and whimpered into the phone's receiver, feeling Grant's presence still there on the other side, as if his ear was right there at her lips as her orgasm took her and carried her far away to a place where Crawford wasn't listening and nothing else mattered..

 

[Bevatoria]

Apparently he'd said the right words, and even without the added benefit of speakerphone, Grant could tell he'd triggered something. Or his words had. The drugs he'd put in her cookie had, combined with the cruel, manipulative words and statement's he'd embedded inside of her mind and her head. As if they'd left him an empty whiteboard and he'd scrawled on it, his dark, demented fantasies of what to do in order to humiliate and demean his smart, talented, beautiful, and stubborn student. Every man's fantasy, a naked woman in the men's room, at their bidding, but as he struggled to hear more of her forbidden release, he wondered who was controlling who.

Was it him, speaking, or his anger? His spite?

Whatever it was, it had his cock rock hard in his pants, so much so that it felt like a mere touch would send him to his own end. Hissing as he heard her moans, her gasps, (her screams?), he held back. They were both at work, but even where she was, she was somehow more free. Under his thumb, her humiliation had found freedom to express itself, where as Grant had to hide his control in a closet, where nobody could see him, appreciate his genius, appreciate his mastery of her.

But how mastery did he have? Was he a boy frying ants? A blindfolded child whacking at an aimless pinata?

She was still going? Maybe it had been seconds, or minutes, or hours...but it seemed like an eternity, the moment over the phone where he heard another of Elizabeth's most intimate, private moments. One he'd given to her, forced upon her. The images in his mind were tantalizing, but still at a distance, as he imagined her writhing, bucking, her eyes closed in ecstasy as she lost herself in bliss at his command. Her nude body wracked with pleasure, cumming at her own hand, merely because he wished...

Oh, how he wanted to watch. The next time, he would, he vowed. Part of him wanted to go into the room, shoo Crawford out, steal her clothes, make her do it again...and again...and-

The cold water of reality set in as he realized how long he'd been gone, holed away in this little closet. How long she'd been gone under the guise of another bathroom break. Her breathing seemed to steady, and he spoke again.

"Clean up and get back." His voice was low. "Remember, see me before you got home today." Grant lingered before hanging up, as much to give her a chance to respond as anything. Eventually, he hung up, striding back into the room as if nothing had happened. Just another phone call in a day full of them.

Nobody seemed to pay him any heed. Still, there was no sign of Crawford, he noticed absently as he got back to his workstation. To do the 'real' work even as he longed for his fantasy world with Elizabeth.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Elizabeth was quiet, still breathing hard, her bare skin damp and shining from her exertions. Still wrapped in her little private shroud of warm comfort, tingles of pleasure running up and down her spine, she felt the possibility of peace for the first time in... hours? Days? She couldn't remember and it didn't matter. She just closed her eyes, ignoring the discomfort of the toilet seat against her naked bottom or the tissue dispensers metal edge digging into her bare ankle as her twitched one last time.

It was quiet, even Crawford not making a sound. It was as if he was waiting for what he might hear next, but Elizabeth couldn't see him, scarcely even remembering his presence. It was the small buzz of Grant's voice from the phone still in her left hand, now down on her relaxed thighs, her fingers relaxed and open and close to letting it slip from her grasp to the floor.

Elizabeth blinked, hearing his voice, dragging her back to the threshold of reality. Simple words, simple reminders. Clean up. Get Back. See him. Of course she was going to clean up. Of course she would get back to her station. And of course she would see him before she left. Although, as she thought about it, she wasn't exactly sure why, other than he told her to. Why had she ever listened to him before about something like that, in over a year of working for him? After what had happened, there was an insistent voice in the back of her head telling her never to see him again, to just run far away and hide her face from the embarrassment -- he had heard! Again! The whole thing!

Oh God, she was so ashamed. Suddenly, just like that, the realization that Grant heard it all was enough to make her totally aware of her sweaty, panting nakedness. To remind her of how she'd moaned and writhed in the little stall, the wet sounds of her fingers, and that the breathing she heard wasn't just her own, but Crawford's too. Crawford! She closed her eyes and then hid them behind her hand for good measure, the understanding of what she'd done too much for her to face.

Her right leg,slick with perspiration, slipped from it's perch on the floor and her foot gracefully touched the tiles. She slowly brought her legs together, her knees touching lightly like that could somehow restore her dignity and modesty as she sat trembling with embarrassment.

It was quiet, and she sheepishly looked to the floor for her clothes. Her tshirt was sticking out under the door, her jeans well into the next stall. And she couldn't see her panties anywhere. There was one shoe, and the other under her tshirt. As quiet as she could she reached out and snagged each item with her fingertips, sliding them closer as slowly as she could, as if she could somehow fool any watching eye into not noticing the movement, until she could pull them to her, sitting on the toilet with a lapful of clothes and a face hot with embarrassment.

Elizabeth slipping into the jeans first, wanting to cover her essential nakedness right way, ignoring the slight tickle of the room's ventilation against her breasts and still swollen nipples for the moment. Why had she worn the tight jeans? Some crazy thought that boys would look at her, what kind of thinking was that? Elizabeth realized something was wrong with her, something broken inside that she had to fix or everything she'd worked for would be in jeopardy.

As she wriggled her hips again and again, getting them over her hips, Elizabeth had to wince at the touch of the heavy fabric against her aching pussy. She must have rubbed herself raw, and her insides felt like over-sensitized mush. But she snapped up, trying to ignore the damp feeling, too afraid to look down at her crotch to see if she looked as bad there as she smelled, her scent so strong in her nose. The tshirt followed, her fingers trying to fluff it out in front of her so her nipples wouldn't poke against the material so obviously. She slipped into her shoes, not bothering to tie them, just needing to get out, come back, see Grant and go. She needed to lock herself in her room and hide from all this, at least until she could figure out what was wrong with her and what to do about it.

With tentative fingers she opened the stall door a crack, peeking through. Crawford was there, facing away from her, at the sink in front of the mirror. His hands were in front of him, moving slightly, but there was no sound of water for him to scrub with. Ewwww. Then his eyes caught sight of hers in the mirror suddenly and she slammed the little gap closed again, pressing her forehead against the stall door. He knew! He saw her! How to get out? She could wait him out, but... ewwww.

Elizabeth forced herself to straighten up, to remember who's daughter she was, and to remember no one had the slightest idea who Crawford's father was. He was a nobody, headed nowhere. She threw open the door like it was the most natural thing in the world for her to come out of a stall in the men's room, like he was the one who was out of place.

He'd gone stiff, his own face red, his arm no longer moving. As Elizabeth approached him Crawford kept turning his body, as if he didn't want her to see something. But his eyes were on hers. He knew. He'd heard. Would he forget? It didn't look like it.

She thought quickly and then blurted out, "I... uh... you know those breakfast burritos... go right through you.... right?" As she got close to him, though, close enough she could touch him if she weren't so embarrassed, a new scent mixed with her own. She suddenly remembered a night in a car with a high school boy, Roger, begging her to touch him, and that scent. Ewww. He was...

But gross as it was to have a boy... masturbating over her... maybe it was a good thing. Elizabeth stopped in her tracks and turned to face him in the mirror. "Crawford? One word out of you and I'll tell everyone, you understand? This never happened." He nodded, still turning away, his shirt forgotten in the sink.

Elizabeth strode out of the bathroom, forgetting for the moment to even stop and check if someone was going to see her coming out of the men's room, delighted with having solved a problem, and enjoying the sensation of her legs working normally again for the first time in so long, walking with her accustomed stride, not shaking or twitching, aching for something. She smiled, even as her face turned a little red at the sight of faces turning her way.

They couldn't have heard. She wasn't that loud was she? She turned to look at the periodic chart on the wall as she walked back to her desk, trying hard to ignore everyone's eyes on her, and she sat down. Her station was a mess, test tubes everywhere, spilled catalysts. It was like Grant had let a four year loose on her things while she'd been in the bathroom. Only it slowly returned to her -- she was the four year old. Elizabeth bit her lower lip pensively. She needed to fix this, something had to be done.

She couldn't stay. Her ideas were flowing again, but nothing would be ok until she figured out what was wrong with her. Was she crazy? Or just sick? She had to do something. She just packed away the worst of her mess and turned off the power at her station to leave. Maybe a brief nap, a bite to eat and then she'd see if the health center was open.

But she couldn't leave. Her mind kept reminding her to see Grant. She didn't want to face him, not after what she'd done. Didn't want to waste time on him, didn't want to hear his voice and imagine those other words that had haunted her all day. She just wanted to be the old Elizabeth again.

Every stop away from his office got harder and harder for her though, like her guts were twisting up in knots, like she knew she had to do it and just didn't' want to face it. Finally she gave in. She would fulfill her obligation. She said she would after all. But on her terms, not his.

Elizabeth paced over to where he was working as quickly as her once-again functional legs would take her, and stopped far enough away from him that hopefully he wouldn't notice any aroma coming from her. "Grant, you said I had to stop and see you before I went home. I... I have to leave early today. Something's wrong and I think I might be sick, gotta go to the Health Center and get checked out, ok? So... see you later, bye, ok?" Why had her voice suddenly gone all teen, asking rather than telling, as if even her simplest statements were only tentative, pending someone else's approval. She definitely had a problem.

 

[Bevatoria]

He wouldn't have been able to tell anyone how long it had been. Grant had almost forgotten about what he'd been doing in the closet a few short moments before, listening to Elizabeth masturbating just a room or two away. So focused on his readings, so intent on his task, that it could have been a minute, or an hour, until he noticed she was back. Apparently 'normal' again, for the moment, released from his control or at the very least another stage of it. She almost looked normal, if normal looked like anything now. He saw the displeased look she wore at her station, and he wondered if she'd really been that out of it. It had been her running her own experiments, wasting valuable time and materials.

Not that she couldn't for the rest of the year and still pass easily. But he knew how driven she was, and Grant knew because of that she wouldn't just rest on her laurels. Accept what was happening to her. Not her, not the daughter of the greatest biological scientist and researcher the University had ever known! No, she wouldn't just ignore her own strange behavior. She'd want to get to the bottom of it. Find out what was bothering her, changing her, knowing it wasn't natural, even if she likely wouldn't have the slightest suspicion that it was him. That it was the cookies that were making her susceptible to his suggestions, and needing the release she'd denied herself.

He wouldn't put it past her to eventually find out, though.

His eyes focused on her, taking her in as she walked. Still a bit funny, and even in the chemical, acrid air of the lab Grant could smell sex on her.

"Grant, you said I had to stop and see you before I went home. I... I have to leave early today. Something's wrong and I think I might be sick, gotta go to the Health Center and get checked out, ok? So... see you later, bye, ok?"

She didn't have to check with him before leaving. Grant's earlier suggestion had taken root, and now he wanted to make another one. But without the cookie, she would listen as much as she always had.

"Now, now, don't run off." A casual, easy going voice, as if they were dicussing the weather. "It seems like you've been through a lot the last few nights, so of course I'll let you go." The emphasis on the word, as if it was his choice for her to leave. "But why don't I give you something for the road? One or two of those cookies you enjoyed so much?" Something resembling sympathy in his eyes, even if it was likely a distant second cousin at best. "To help soothe you while you try to figure things out."

Maybe it was too much, implying that somehow Elizabeth was the cause of her own problems right now, needing Grant's approval for something so intimate, so secret, that she'd inadvertently shared with at least two men so far. Even if both had done the same with her, unknowingly. He reached for the plastic bag in his sack; two of the treats in there, placed on the desk. Far from his experiment, far from anything that would spoil them more then they had been already with his alterations and chemicals.

"Have one right now, if you like." Calm, soothing. "I'm sure it'll taste great." One way or another, the teaching assistant hoped she did something, because he was starting to creep himself out. Go, stay, take a bite so I can suggest something else, but don't just stare at me.

Him looking at her was one thing, but her looking back, in near full command of her faculties, was still as intimidating as ever. Even under his thumb, Elizabeth still had it.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Elizabeth felt the weird clash of emotions inside as Grant called her back, not letting her bolt the way every sense in her body told her to. She had a problem and as much as Grant felt like the solution earlier, he felt like the problem now.

Why did she even care what he thought, whether it was ok with him if she left? He was a toad right? Nothing to her. But what he knew about her, what she'd openly shared with him on the phone twice now for some reason, it left her feeling vulnerable around him. Was it just that he might reveal her if he chose?

Or was there a part of her that knew already she might need him again. Either one made her simmer a little with resentment toward him, but knowing both were probably true had her tensing up inside. But still, she stopped herself mid-turn and faced him again, trying to show her impatience and disdain for him even talking to her, trying to let the heat blaze in her eyes like the old days -- the old days two days ago.

Grant spoke again and Elizabeth was convinced his only goal in life was to set all her emotions flying around at the same time so he could watch as they smashed into each other. Sure he went through the emotions of being the compassionate boss, all "you've been through a lot" but of course that was just his way of reminding her that he knew what she'd been through.

And his pompous way of stringing out the word let. She rolled her eyes and then rolled them again in the time it took him to say that one word. Quietly, almost under her breath, she had to clarify his mistaken assumptions. "Grant, you're in charge of the lab, but you don't control me... I just... it was just a courtesy, that's all, to let you know. So don't get all..."

He didn't seem to really care, or maybe she was too quiet, because he just changed the topic as if she'd said nothing, as if he still thought he had a say in her coming and going. But then he pulled out the bag of cookies. Two of them. One with just a little bit chipped off on one side but the other perfectly round. Her eyes took in every detail, like the two bagged up little snacks were suddenly the most important thing in the room.

Elizabeth listened to him but didn't take her eyes off the cookies. He had noticed how much she liked them, and brought more. She flicked her eyes to his face, caught him staring at her, a strange little nervous smile on his face. Was he being kind? It was considerate, thoughtful, kind of surprising he even noticed something so small as her enjoying his cookies. But they were good. Really good.

Maybe he wasn't the problem. She was harsh on him, ever since he'd asked her out that time, always keeping him at arm's length. Too harsh? Half the time over the last two days he made her think she wasn't harsh enough, and the other half she was convinced she was the whole problem. Perhaps she was. The Health Center, they could help her.

Once they did a culture and gave her the right antibiotic or whatever, she'd feel better. This would all be behind her. Hopefully they'd both forget this little... indiscretion... ever even happened. Who would believe it anyway? Elizabeth steeled herself inside, still warm from the pleasure and having to make an effort to get the imperious stare back in her eyes. She needed to start putting him back in his place now, before it was too late. Once she was back to her old self, it would be so much easier, but for the moment it was so hard to meet his eyes and glare back at him properly.

Especially with the cookies right there. Elizabeth glanced at them. Remove the cookies from the equation! It was obvious. "Well, thank you Grant, I will have one, just one mind you. And then I'm going to go." No question in her tone, forcing herself with all her will to be firm with him. She reached for the cookie on his desk, wishing it didn't force her to come those two extra steps closer to him, the thought of him getting even a whiff of her scent taking a toll on her will power.

She snatched up the unbroken cookie from the bag and pulled back a few steps from him, like a scared animal taking food from a hunter. Elizabeth could smell it right away, no thought of her own scent suddenly, her senses filled with the sight of the cookie, it's perfect aroma. Her mouth watered and she took a bite right away, not able to wait until she was out of the lab. It was as good as she remembered, her brain reacting almost like she was back in the bathroom. But she couldn't stop, chewing and swallowing and taking another bite, and then another, and when the cookie was done licking her fingers to get every crumb.

Where was she going again? Oh, right the Health Center. "Ok, Grant, that was uh..." How to express it? "Good." To say any more she was afraid she'd embarrass himself, or give him a huge inflated ego over his baking skills. "Very good. Now I have to go." Her eyes flicked to that second cookie. "Ok?"

 

[Bevatoria]

Grant saw her struggle, a quick look at him, and the cookies, as if debating. And it wasn't because of her diet. She was wondering whether to accept his kindness, just as he was pondering how far he'd take this. How far he should. Was giving her a cookie right before a doctor's test such a great idea? What if they found something, a reading he hadn't anticipated, perhaps a sign that she'd ingested a chemical she wasn't supposed to be having-

"Well, thank you Grant, I will have one, just one mind you. And then I'm going to go." He inclined his head as she reached for them.

"Good idea." He looked her over as she backed away scared, something like an animal would as she took a bite out of it. One bite becoming two, and then several, and somehow even with as many times as he'd seen it already, something about seeing her consume the cookie so quickly made him...uneasy? They were a means to an end, not the end entirely, and not for the first time Grant wondered if he'd managed to create a monster that he couldn't control. Having her cum over and over again at his command was one thing, but to make her rely on this to do it, well...perhaps he should've tried it in water instead.

"Ok, Grant, that was uh...Good.Very good. Now I have to go." He caught her gazing at the second cookie. "Ok?"

He held up his hand. "I wouldn't want to keep you here, Elizabeth. Go get your checkup, and come back all rested and refreshed for your time tomorrow." The kind, giving supervisor again. "It should be a pretty hot day tomorrow, so dress...nicer."

Under oath, he would've sworn he meant the comment in jest. But it had been a targeted comment. Still under the cookie's suggestive effects, it would have an impact, even if he had meant it innocently. But nothing was innocent anymore. Grant had made sure of that with the cookies, with the way he was using them on her, the ways he intended to use them on here, checkup or not.

He'd find a way to keep her under his thumb.

*****************

Back at home, his evening well underway, Grant had been able to indulge in his own release, without the listening ears or the possibility of discovery that Elizabeth had been forced to endure. But one no less satisfying, if certain scales were to be applied. Still, he worked carefully on items better left to the workplace, refining and changing his formulae to better entrap poor Elizabeth.

Even if the chemicals in the cookies never went stale, the cookies themselves would. And he wondered what to put in the next batch, how to refine what he was putting her through. More satisfaction in the release, but less consuming need for it. A sharper curve, to try to avoid the mess she'd been the last two days. Grant's concerns for her were more then selfish; in a twisted way, as much as he wanted to use her and abuse her, it wasn't about destroying her life. Merely bending it so it was more to his satisfaction.

So that she was to his satisfaction.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Between her time in the men's room and the taste of Grant's cookie still in her mouth, Elizabeth felt too good to snap at Grant for the way he held up his hand, stopping her departure. Sure he deserved it, but for at least one minute Elizabeth just wanted some peace. She was a little embarrassed having to meet his eyes after all that happened between them, but as he actually showed even a crumb of sensitivity to her... condition, sending her off to the Health Center and then home for the day, she just couldn't let the embarrassment bother her. She felt too good for that, too open to the universe and what it might teach her if she could just calm her thoughts like this all the time and listen, truly listen.

"It should be a pretty hot day tomorrow, so dress...nicer." Somehow his instruction seemed like the wisdom of the ages, even though there was a part of her that scoffed inside at how stupid it was too dress nicely, and what did that have to do with it being hot? But she just thanked him again, and then once it was clear he had nothing more to impart to her she turned and left, averting her eyes as she passed Crawford coming out of the men's room.
-------
It was a short walk to the building where the Health Center was housed in the basement. Elizabeth took a number and read a magazine about viruses. It was stupid. The author didn't even know the proper transcoding rates for viral strands injected into new host cells. She shook her head, annoyed with the world's stupidity, when her number was called.

After a few minutes waiting in room 3 a surprisingly young guy, kind of handsome with dark hair and glasses and two days of stubble on his chin came in wearing a lab coat, as if he somehow needed it to prove he was a doctor. It reminded her of Grant. Elizabeth had to remind herself to go easy on him, trying to remember she was the one coming to him for help. Even if she was smarter than him, he was the one with the prescription pad and the license to use it.

"The problem? Well, Doctor... Johnson," she read his tag after pushing her glasses back up.

"Mark, you can call me Mark."

"Well, Dr. Johnson... Mark... I...I seem to... uh, well, I've been having a problem with concentration, serious loss of focus. It mostly seems to have to do with one guy, like I thought he was the cause of it all, but it's more than that. You see... well.... uh... this is so embarrassing..." Dr. Johnson nodded and encouraged he to go on. "Well, I... I just... this is so unlike me but, recently, I just can't help..." -- Elizabeth, her cheeks flushing, looked down as her hips squirmed a little just from talking about it -- ".. well... you know... touching myself? I, uh seem to be, it's like I'm ... well, 'horny' all the time." She said the word like it was a medical condition that was only supposed to happen to other people. "I've always managed to keep this stuff under control, it's never been a problem before. I keep myself productive and focused on my work, and lately, I just... I need you to check me Doctor, something's seriously wrong."

Doctor Johnson smiled and laughed a little, as if it was no big deal. "Anything else?" Elizabeth's cheeks grew even hotter when he asked, finding herself unable to say any more about it she was so embarrassed already. "Well, Elizabeth. You're.... 20?" He looked at her and the chart, "almost 20, and no real history of anything in your chart. Let's see here... Family history on your father's side of heart disease and on your mother's side... history of mental illness and... oh... well, I'm sorry, that's not really... let's just focus on the immediate problem shall we?"

He took the usual tongue depressor and looked in all the wrong places and asked all the wrong questions like there was some doctor script he was required to follow even when it had nothing to do with the problem. After a few more questions and some reflex tests he stepped back. "Well, in my opinion, Elizabeth, I think you're working too hard. You've come down with a very serious case of boy fever." He said it with a smile, as if she was supposed to be relieved or happy or find it cute.

"That's not it. Can't be it. I don't..."

The doctor looked alarmed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it came out, it could be girl fever instead."

"No, I'm not lesbian. I just, it's more serious than that. Dr. Johnson, I need you to check me for something serious!"

"Call me Mark. Do you feel really hot a lot of the time?" She nodded. "Thoughts distracted, even by the guy who irritates you?" She nodded. "Do you find yourself doing embarrassing things just to get his attention or be around him, or just because you can't help it?" Elizabeth nodded, staring at her feet at the thought of what she'd done. "Do you feel it here, even right now, with me?"

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "Yeah sure, but, that's not... are you even a real Doctor? For Christ's sake, just draw some blood and send it to the lab. I'm sure the insurance covers it and I'm telling you there's something wrong with me."

Dr. Johnson looked at her with something like pity in his eyes, but he drew some blood, not even a flunky around to do that for him, which showed how far down he was on the totem pole around here, probably just an intern or maybe even a lowly medical student. As she pressed the cotton swab to her elbow, he took out a small pad and scribbled a few things and tore off the sheet and handed it to her. "Come back in the morning and I'll have your results. In the mean time, here, take this."

She took it from him with a slight scowl and stomped out, wondering if she should go to a real hospital's emergency room. Elizabeth walked across the quad and sat down at a table in the atrium, suddenly starving, realizing she hadn't eaten anything but cookies and odds and ends in two days. A waitress came up and Elizabeth ordered soup and a salad and a tuna melt.

While she waited she saw the pharmacy right next door, so she took out the prescription and read it: "Relax, get some sleep, maybe dance, go out for drinks with someone nice. Live. Enjoy being young and pretty." It was signed, Mark, and had a phone number. Elizabeth could be dying, or at the very least one of the finest minds of her generation could be withering away, drowning in a cesspool of hormones, and that lowlife was... was... hitting on her? Elizabeth scowled and crumpled up the stupid paper as the waitress brought her soup. She tried to smile at the waitress and handed her the crumpled prescription. "And could you please take this? It's garbage."

After she was done eating, she realized how exhausted she was. It was barely approaching evening but with all she'd been through she found it hard to think about going to the library or attending evening lectures. She just headed back to her room. As she climbed the stairs the guys only harassed her a little, a few of them just following her with their eyes on her tight jeans. Elizabeth was too worn out to make a fuss and just kept going, letting them look just the short time until she turned up the next flight of stairs.

In her room, she turned on all the fans and poured herself a glass of water and sat down, lost in her thoughts of what happened in the men's room, and on the floor the previous night, and boy fever and Grant's voice. It didn't matter. The Health Center would have her results in the morning. And for sure a real doctor would see if something was amiss.

She stripped down to her panties and put on an old tshirt and lay in bed, staring at the lights and shadows in her room, trying to go to sleep. Her eyes were heavy but sleep just wasn't coming. Without really thinking about it, her hand reached between her legs. She slowly spread her thighs, lifting her knees, and then let her fingers start stroking herself, the heat of her body radiating through the cotton of her panties to warm her moistening fingers.

Elizabeth groaned and struggled against herself for a few moments but gave in, like it was her new bed time ritual, that she had to play with herself, to at least try even though she knew full well it would just frustrate her. It felt like a neurotic compulsion she couldn't fight. Two hours later, sweaty and naked, her tshirt on the floor and her damp panties dangling from one ankle, her hand gently cupped her aching pussy as her body settled weakly into the mattress, to worn out to go on. After two hours of lying with her legs spread and imagining various disturbing cures for boy fever, she finally drifted off.

Her dreams were no escape and no relief and by the time she woke up she was even more jittery and turned on. Boy fever. It was serious. Elizabeth indulged her need briefly, allowing her fingers to stroke, to dip inside and discover how wet she was, but it only brought her more frustration.

She couldn't! She just couldn't! Not again! She had to hold out at least long enough to get a real prescription from the Health Center.

With an effort she got her hand out from between her legs and staggered naked on wobbly legs to the shower, soaping away all her embarrassing odors, trying to scrub away all of the those insistent sensations until only her old self was left, but all the rubbing and washing just left her skin wet and pink and tingling for more. She shuddered and dragged herself out of the warm water before she started trying to touch herself again. Elizabeth knew the pattern by now, and that led nowhere.

Get dressed. The Health Center! Her results, antibiotics!

There was hope at least to keep her moving forward. She focused on her hair, and getting dressed. First she put on some panties, deciding on the pink pair with the tiny little bow on top for a change, drawing in a harsh breath as the fabric settled on her oversensitive parts. Don't touch, do not touch! She kept her hands at her sides and stared in the mirror. The nipples on her small breasts were standing hard at attention, and her wet hair was plastered to her bare slender shoulders.

She began brushing, and then pulled out the blow dryer her mom had left her. She'd never actually used it, but her mom had sworn by it. Elizabeth plugged it in and begin brushing and blowing her hair dry, her body shivering and trembling from the pleasure of the warm air teasing her bare skin, but at least her hands were busy with something to do so she didn't touch herself. Finally she had her hair sleek and shiny, like her mom used to get it for her when they all went out for Sunday dinner in the old days, when she was little.

Elizabeth turned her head, let her hair toss freely left and right, over her shoulders, down her back, trying to let it all cascade forward over one shoulder and down over her breast, like her mom sometimes used to. She decided to go with that today. Instead of putting in a hair band to make her pony tail, she slipped four hair bands on her wrist, liking the color and the way it looked. She didn't really have much in the way of bracelets, but she just felt like wearing something nice.

She reached for one of her sports bras, but then thought twice. Wasn't it going to be hot today? Instead, she rummaged around at the bottom of her drawer and found a light very lacy little bra. She didn't actually need all that support from her sports bras anyway, small as she was. Elizabeth just wore them to make sure men like Grant didn't spend all their time focused on her chest rather than her ideas. But with the hot weather, the little lacy bra was actually perfect. And if men wanted to look, well... why would they want to look at her anyway? What was she afraid of?

Over the lacy bra she wore a little white short-sleeve blouse with a sequined heart on the chest. Her mom had brought it home for Elizabeth from a convention trip that final year. She said she'd bought it a size too big for Elizabeth so it would last, but now years later it was a size too small. She'd only worn it once before packing it away at the bottom of the drawer wherever she went, until today. Still, it was pretty. Feminine, the way her mom liked.

Elizabeth picked a skirt she also hadn't worn in years. It was short and a little tight now that she was almost 20, but as she looked at it in the mirror, turning to examine herself from the side, and from behind, it looked nice, the soft pink material hugging her in a nice way, showing off her slender curves. The skirt showed a lot of leg too, and Elizabeth wished she wasn't so pale, but that was life in the lab. She thought about stockings but it was going to be hot, she just knew it.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn't help thinking of Grant's voice. By the time she was actually considering the pair of heels her mom had bought her, the ones her dad had insisted she wear when she accompanied him to his award ceremony just a year later, to take Mom's place at his side, Elizabeth didn't feel the twinge of sadness she usually did from thinking about it. Her eyes just looked at the way it showed off her legs, the curves of her calves. She turned and turned again, feeling warm and happy inside. Mom would have thought she looked good. It was a nice outfit.

No one said a word on the stairs as she passed the stairs on her way back to health center, and Elizabeth smile just a little. She could feel her hips moving just a little differently in the heels and she decided for once not to fight it. She was going to get her antibiotics in a few minutes and then all would be well. Why worry?

Another brief wait and then Dr. Johnson gave a double take when he called her over. "Elizabeth? You... you look great. Looks like you're dealing with that, uh, boy fever just fine."

Elizabeth shook her head. "It's just hot today, and I thought I'd... I don't know, dress nicer." The way the doctor was looking at her made her squirm a little uncomfortably. "Look, can I just get a prescription now -- a real one this time! -- and get on my way?"

Dr. Johnson shook his head. "Well Elizabeth, I don't usually say this to patients.... I hate to tell you, but you're 100% healthy. Probably you should take some vitamins or eat a little better, maybe go out to a restaurant with a nice guy..." he waited for a moment with a smile, but there was nothing. "But otherwise, nothing wrong at all."

Elizabeth couldn't believe it. "Can you please check with a real doctor? That can't be right."

Dr. Johnson chuckled. Elizabeth, I am a real doctor, but Dr. Severinson reviewed everything this morning too if that makes you feel any better. There's nothing wrong with your bloodwork. And not a thing wrong with you that I can see." His eyes did another trip up and down her body, making her want to flee. "Not a thing wrong with you."

Elizabeth turned and left, not even taking her results with her. She doesn't exactly stride across the quad, not with so little experience wearing heels, but she has a singular look of purpose in her eyes, ignoring the eyes on her as she heads for the lab. Some are just strangers eyeing her like a girl they'd never noticed before. Others were classmates asking each other if that was Elizabeth. But she paid them no mind at all. She had to get to the lab. If no one else would cure her, she'd have to cure herself.

Back in the lab, she went straight to her workstation, ignoring the awkward silence, the little coughs of recognition as slowly every guy in the office turned to watch her set up her work station. Finally she noticed and looked around, glaring at everyone. That they recognized and took their eyes off her ass and went back to their own work, for the most part. The occasional glances she just ignored, so long as they left her to work in peace. Elizabeth pricked her fingertip for a small sample of her blood and started analyzing it. Her work went slowly, and it was a constant struggle with herself not to just dash off to "her stall" and try to make herself feel better. She couldn't stand still, her hips in constant motion as she moved about her station, spinning up samples and titrating solutions. Finally an hour and a half later she was getting close to some meaningful results regarding her neurochemicals and hormonal markers that seemed odd.

Then she heard the door open and familiar footfalls. Elizabeth shuddered visibly, a little tremor of pleasure rippling down her spine even before she looked and saw it was Grant. She tried to shrink down low on her lab stool but unaccustomed to wearing the short skirt she didn't realize that didn't help one bit. So she just stood at her inactive centrifuge, trying not to look awkward in her heels in front of Grant, and pretended to intently read something from it, suddenly feeling incredibly self conscious.

As Grant walked by on the way to his area she felt like running to the bathroom to hide, but that thought just made her flush bright red with sense memory flooding through her, the feeling of her body naked and sweating, the stall against her bare foot, spreading herself so wide, the scent, the sound of her fingers so wet, all of it coming back, and more than anything, Grant's voice.

Not again no. Not this, please. She focused with all her effort, biting her lower lip to the point it almost hurt to keep her mind sharp and focused, using the pain to chase away all those distracting thoughts, focusing just on the discomfort and her analysis. Discomfort and analysis, that she could handle. Facing Grant, facing what she ached for so badly, no way. Think, think, something about neurochemicals,her neurochemicals were all wacky. A catalyzing cocktail to slow the absorption rates. It wouldn't stop it but it could help a little maybe. Think about that. Just don't think about Grant. Or his voice. Or the men's room.

 

[Bevatoria]

On with his morning, a delightfully boring scenario given how entertaining his last 24 hours had been. Grant got up, the routine of showering, eating breakfast, and brushing his teeth seeming so monotonous when something he'd created had turned out so successful. It was like finding out that Santa Claus really did exist, but not being able to tell anyone, and even as he munched through his undercooked bacon and dry eggs, Grant thought about how to change at least one part of that equation.

It wouldn't be about letting Elizabeth go, of course. She'd try to find a way to fight the enemy she couldn't see, and he would try to figure out how to keep her coming back for more, unwittingly sealing her fate. And how to market this invention into something that he could sell, well, that would be an entirely different matter. Grant had theorized that maybe he could turn it into a 'self help' pill, to make people want to do things that they didn't want to do. Like exercising, doing chores, or even something as basic as spending more time with their kids. The proteins were there for reordering, for anyone to change, and so there might be some refining to be done. Perhaps in tandem with a coaching program of some sort.

Or, on the other hand, it could cure bad habits the same way. Perhaps it would be safer, and more marketable with the number of people trying to quit smoking, lose weight...what could cause greater desire could also cause less of it as well. It'd be a simpler basic compound, with a much lesser chance of harm were things to go wrong.

He sighed. So much of this he hadn't thought through...

Clad in a black collared shirt and light brown khaki shorts over blue boxers, he went off to start his day.

*******************

The part he had thought through, and that was going to plan, however, were his orders to Elizabeth. Much like his 'programming' of her orders to cum on his command, and where he commanded it, he really had no idea how far his subtle hint to dress more girly would go. It wasn't just his glance at her that proved it as he took in her shapely figure. The glances from the other males in the lab...hell, the other females who seemed either confused or jealous gave it away. They'd sneer at her, sure, but for the most part it was either due to them hating how smart she was, or that she seemed to think she was 'above' the rest of them.

He could lose his eyes for hours in her long legs, how they ran up to her short skirt on the stool she was now perched on. Somewhat awkwardly, by Grant's estimation, Elizabeth seemed unsure of how to position herself to not...well, let's just say Grant and the guys were happy with how she sat. The blouse hugged her torso, and he wondered if she bent right, if the hem of it wouldn't quite reach the top of her skirt, and he hoped she'd offhandedly show some more skin as she worked, focused on whatever experiment she had in front of her.

Lost in his thoughts of her feminine form, he didn't think to look at what she was doing too closely. He was in charge, and he had his 'own' work to do, grabbing his lab coat that he indulged in to differentiate himself from the students. As if he had to, as if being able to say he was a grad student wasn't enough. A badge, a symbol saying what his accomplishments and academia could not, that he was higher then them, better then them. A reflection of his insecurity.

After a half hour, he started to walk around, checking in on the students. "Adam, how are you over here?" A smile at the tentative student's nod, his own confidence bolstered by a student respecting his authority, another few steps.

"Persephone?"

And so on and so forth, as he had to spend several minutes with poor Crawford, who seemed rattled by the most basic concepts. Grant had also noticed that Crawford's gaze had been avoiding Elizabeth despite her new choice of attire.

Well, unless he was absolutely sure she wouldn't look at him.

It took about fifteen minutes to round the room, but he'd reached a holding point in his own work, and finally he made his way to Elizabeth, satisfied that nobody would suspect anything out of the ordinary. Whatever she was doing, she was pretty engrossed in, but his interest was in her, and not her work. Slow, deliberate steps, enjoying the sight of her legs, her mostly bare arms, her hair flowing down her back. And she was even wearing heels?

Wow.

"Elizabeth?" He asked gently. He smiled slightly, as if to soften the content of their conversation, make it casual, carefree, like discussing the weather. "Are you feeling better? Did the Health Center...find anything unusual?" Two different questions, he knew, even if he had a vested interest in the answer to the second one. But Elizabeth had no way of knowing that. Surely she hadn't suspected Grant of anything underhanded aside from a few not so well thought out words. To her, he was just an instructor inquiring about his student, making sure she was okay, and able to continue her work.

No, it had nothing to do with how she looked in a skirt. No sir.

No way.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Elizabeth's hands were so jittery as she poured the mix of chemicals and viral fragments together carefully. It was so hard for her not to glance at Grant, so see if he was looking at her. When her thoughts grew too consumed with the worry of what he knew, what he was thinking of her, whether he had recorded any of her noises, and worse, she would stop and jab her lab notebook's pencil tip into her fingertip for 5 or 6 seconds. But after awhile, as the temperature on the beaker was getting close to to ready for separation, even that wasn't working.

The timer would go off in 3 more minutes and she was just standing and waiting, fidgeting and losing herself in the strange sensation of her thighs rubbing together under her skirt, so unlike the pants she always wore. It was a horrible distraction, and she found herself swaying back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm as she stood at the autoclave with her eyes half closed, absorbed with just how good it felt.

The timer dinged and she snapped out of her little trance. Elizabeth looked around briefly. At least Crawford was diligently avoiding looking at her. She dipped the pH strip in the beaker and frowned at the result. It needed another round in the centrifuge for sure, but maybe then it would be ready.

Her feet were getting a little sore in the heels and she took turns lifting first one foot, then the other, bending her knee and letting the heel hang a little loosely, letting the foot rest for a few seconds. Of course, this also got her thighs going, tensing with each movement, rubbing every so slightly. She was so conscious of her panties today, in a way she'd never really noticed before, every little movement sending ripples of sensation right through her. Elizabeth looked at the timer, and then over at the bathrooms. Her hands were clutching the edge of her work station to keep from letting them do what they ached to do, to slip under the waist band of her skirt and dip down between her legs.

Elizabeth shook her head to get rid of that thought. Still, there was enough time before the batch was ready. If she hurried, if she was lucky, maybe she could slip into her stall and clear her head. Maybe even bring her cell phone, just in case she needed Grant.

Grant. Where was he? Elizabeth looked at his station and he wasn't there. Had he left? What if she needed him? Not that she ever needed him, not in the lab or anything. She felt her hips starting to move even a little more, pressing her pelvis forward against the edge of the workstation as she thought about Grant, her eyes looking around his workstation and the supply cabinet, trying to see where he'd gone. Wasn't it irresponsible of him to be in charge and not...

"Elizabeth?" The sudden voice from right behind Elizabeth startled the hell out of her, and as her body tensed up and almost jumped in surprise she stumbled in the unaccustomed heels, leaning heavily against the work station. As her heart slowed, Elizabeth turned, brushing her hair back out of her eyes and over her shoulder.

It was Grant, he hadn't left. She'd known it the moment she heard his voice. A strange sense of relief flooded through her, as if his absence would somehow have been a challenge for her. The timer and the little beaker of chemicals was out of her mind completely as she nodded to him, trying to be nonchalant even though she felt her insides doing wet little cartwheels. She could see the restroom behind him and a part of her just thought of asking to excuse herself, and she started to flush bright red at just the thought of it.

But Grant had come over for a reason -- to actually check up on her? Wow, what happened to the disgusting pig he'd been just two days ago? Even a day ago? Well, as she was honest with herself, even yesterday, on the phone with her while she was so desperate, he'd still been... less than a... a gentleman, but he had his redeeming qualities too.

Elizabeth felt so awkward around him, knowing what he did about her, and it was hard for her to meet his eyes without blushing, but he talked to her like there was nothing in the world the matter, just asking how she was feeling, and whether the Health Center had found anything.

"Well, uh... Grant, thanks for asking. I... I'm well," her eyes flitted to the rest room again, and then to the floor, feeling as embarrassed as when she had to admit to the doctor she couldn't stop touching herself. She focused on his legs. He was wearing his white lab coat, and shorts underneath it, which looked strange to her, just his bare hairy legs sticking out. So much hair.

"I'm..." She shook her head, her hair cascading over her shoulder as she tried to clear her thoughts enough to answer his simple question. "Well, I'm not feeling 'better' exactly, no. Still... I'm still a bit of a mess. But they.... the doctor, he just said... well, let's just say I don't agree with his diagnosis." Boy fever. The stupid jerk didn't belong in medicine. "But I'm working on it. Hopefully I'll feel better soon. I'm sorry if my output hasn't been so good the last couple days. I've just been... distracted."

She blinked and looked at his smiling face. Had he been looking at her skirt while her eyes were on his legs? Elizabeth couldn't tell. "But how are you, by the way? Anything come of your celebration the other night? Any big news for the lab?" Elizabeth ran her fingers through the ends of her hair lying over her shoulder as she watched him, enjoying the feeling of the smoothness as her fingers ran through it, not realizing how she was fidgeted too, her hips moving ever so slightly, thighs tensing and pressing together without any thought at all.

 

[Bevatoria]

Grant stood stoically as Elizabeth responded, seeing her hesitation and uncertainty. That was strange, this was all strange, seeing her without a ready response, a cutting remark. It had been a couple of days, but he still tensed a little talking to her, even with her so tranquil and submissive under the drugs in his cookies. It was a reflex. Put your guard up, and her words might not wound you, but today, she was doing anything but wounding. She was acting like the wounded one. Uncertain, uneasy, not sure of what she was saying. The change was startling from day to day, and even now Grant wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Well, uh... Grant, thanks for asking. I... I'm well." Her voice seemed small, her eyes flickering behind him, and then down to his legs. Even with his coat open, he realized shorts might not have been the greatest idea, making a mental note: only pants with the lab jacket. An easy enough mistake to rectify. It was summer, but he'd dealt with the warmth before. Elizabeth's hair caught his eye as she answered; or more specifically, how it shifted as she moved her head. She did have beautiful, long hair, and Grant was now glad he'd asked her to let loose a little.

"I'm...well, I'm not feeling 'better' exactly, no. Still... I'm still a bit of a mess. But they.... the doctor, he just said... well, let's just say I don't agree with his diagnosis." Her choice of words brought a raised eyebrow from Grant, who leaned in, just a little, making the encounter a little more private, as if she was telling him something secret, important. As if he deserved to hear it, was entitled to hear it just because of how close he was, of who he was. Proximity could say a lot, even if they were still a respectful distance apart. It was the act of leaning in, acting like she was important to him. Like she deserved to be thought of important by him.

But to hear she didn't like their diagnosis...it *could* be good, but more then likely it would bode ill tidings for him. "Do you have a diagnosis of your own to make?" A question asked entirely in academic interest, of course. And with his full attention on her answer, and not on her long legs draped around the stool in her short skirt.

"But I'm working on it. Hopefully I'll feel better soon. I'm sorry if my output hasn't been so good the last couple days. I've just been... distracted."

And he wasn't distracted by her skirt riding up her thighs, either. Blinking, he recovered quickly, or at least tried to. It looked like she caught him. Still, he responded evenly. "For the year, you're still well ahead of where you need to be." This whole conversation was surreal. Grant was talking to her like a normal student, and even weirder than that, Elizabeth was actually listening to him. It was something she hadn't done before, and something she certainly shouldn't have been doing given what the two of them had shared with each other during the last two days. Their relationship was anything but normal now.

He'd ordered her to strip naked and cum over the phone, letting him hear one of her most intimate moments, and she had...listened to him. Not because of his will, or his cunning, but just his timing and sense of the moment. Of when to strike. Put something in a cookie, let her eat one, get addicted to it, and then...and then...

What?

"But how are you, by the way? Anything come of your celebration the other night? Any big news for the lab?" Grant heard the question, but it took him a moment to actually comprehend it, and try to form an answer. Part of that was because he hadn't been paying attention; distracted by the movement of her hands through the ends of her hair. He loved it when woman played with their hair; a secret indulgence that Elizabeth had unknowingly catered to him with. Her body's unwitting movements, her hips and thighs seeming to clench involuntarily. He wanted to just look at it, try to figure out what Elizabeth was thinking, but right now he had a question for the answer.

"Just a larger funding subsidy from the government that was coming our way through the University." Finally, business, something he could talk easily without losing his train of thought. "Related to some research we did four to six months ago." He coughed. "The 'royal' we, of course." Not them directly, although Elizabeth had contributed to the effort whether she was aware of it or not. So had he. And they would reap some of the rewards of it, even if it would not lead directly to a thicker bank account.

"Any excuse to throw a party, though." He chuckled at the comment, even as his smile disappeared. The conversation seeming to grow awkward, his excuses to steal glances at her legs, her arms, her chest growing fewer. Maybe time to get back to work. Resume the normalcy that didn't really exist.

"Well, if you need anything..." He started.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Elizabeth heard Grant's answer, something about funding and research and all that, but it was like every one of his sentences ended with the whisper, Cum Elizabeth. She didn't want to. Couldn't. Not here at least, not now. And she didn't want him to think...

She nodded as Grant chuckled about the party. She was never good at small talk like Grant was -- when he wasn't fixated on girls' orgasms at least, or her orgasms to be specific. She tried to come up with something to say that was half as clever as the experiments she designed, but the powerful engine of her mind just revved in neutral, going nowhere. All she could think of was his voice on the cell phone, the sound of the bathroom stall squeaking as her bare foot and leg had convulsed against it the day before, her breathy cries when he finally told her to...

No, don't think that. Elizabeth shook her head to banish the thought. "A party. That would... that would be... would you bring more of your awesome cookies?" So lame. She always figured if she supplied the genius, the intellectual clout to do the research, everyone else could do the chit chat, the mundane waste of time needed to raise funds and smooth over obstacles. Was this life's way of punishing her hubris? Her parents had warned her, both successful at negotiating the halls of science and finance, but she had known better, smarter than both of them put together. Parents can be so stupid, she had always thought. Now she wished she'd listened, at least a little. All she had was her brain, and it wasn't doing her a lot of good.

She felt embarrassed at her own banality as Grant seemed totally distracted, his eyes wandering around the room, at his watch, at her outfit. She felt self-conscious all the sudden, as if he was judging her for having dressed like this. He kept looking though and she knew something was wrong. "What is it? Am I... something wrong with my outfit?" She looked down, almost distraught by the possibility her attempt to look a little nicer was such a total failure. "It's an old... I don't have much, ohhh I just wanted to look a little nicer for once, my jeans were just to hot for the weath... I look like a dork dressed like this? Like I got dressed in the dark don't I? Compared to your cool shorts and laid back shirts and fancy shoes, everything always matching except for your... your lab coat." Now she'd done it, even made fun of the one thing he seemed to value more than anything, even if it was stupid. How had she managed to dig such a deep grave for herself in such a short time?

She turned aside, facing the table, looking away from him as she was just to embarrassed about her clothes. Looking down, her words were to the counter top, not to him, too unnerved to say it directly. "I just... I wanted to try to look nice for once, but I don't really have clothes like that, and I never really learned... I should have just worn my jeans and tshirt like normal, I feel so stupid." Her whole body tingled with embarrassment, weird feelings ripping through her, making her anxiously shift her weight slowly back and forth, her hips so aware of the fabric of her skirt with each little movement.

Elizabeth turned back to face him. Grant's eyes darted up to her eyes, but she knew he'd been looking at her outfit, probably agreeing with every word she said, if he even bothered listening to it. Jeans and tshirts from now on, she'd been right all along. She wasn't cut out for nice clothes.

Grant's voice sounded bored, or like he was trying to conceal his boredom, or at least conceal something, maybe his impatience for her to stop bothering him so he could get back to work. "Need anything?"

"Need anything?" Elizabeth's eyes went wide and her mouth open with surprise he would ask such a thing out loud, here. Need anything. Was he, did he... "I don't.... I mean I do but... why would you even...?" Elizabeth felt herself losing her carefully guarded control, everything just slipping away from her. She could hardly get out the words to disguise her embarrassment, and she felt her hips moving even more, now pressing against the edge of her stool with a steady rhythm she couldn't stop, a rhythm she needed. Need anything?

"No.. no... nothing at all, don't need a thing." Her hand was shaking as she ran it through her hair, brushing it all to the right and then forward over her shoulder again, and pushed her glasses up, wanting to look serious, like her mom did in Dad's special pictures of her.

There was an awkward couple seconds of silence between them that stretched out a few seconds longer, with Elizabeth nervously shifting back and forth on her heels, feeling the stool rubbing against her but unable to stop. Then she just blurted out, "I've gotta..." and she couldn't even finish the lie, no idea what she had to do. She just had to be out from under his eyes, away from his offer of needing something before she took him up on it and made an even bigger fool of herself... again.

What had she been doing? She walked on shaky legs back to her work station, her fingers grazing lightly over each of the wooden workbenches and high stools she passed, everything she touched just delighting her senses in a way that made her heart pound. It was like her fingertips tingled, her whole body warm and eager for things she couldn't quite identify.

But at her bench she saw the whirring centrifuge and the timer ticking down. Right, her blood, the formula. The timer buzzed and she looked around, certain everyone was staring at her. Well, a few of them were. Crawford dropped a beaker and looked away quickly, ignoring the broken glass. Everyone was staring at the way she dress, she knew it. Everyone was looking at her. She couldn't face Grant to find out, too nervous. He was the worst of them. She took the sample out and dipped in the pH slip and then squinted at it, pushing her glasses down her nose for a better look. Perfect. It was the best she could do. Ideally she'd give it to a few rabbits or at least a confused freshman first, but she could feel her body so out of control, her pelvis grinding against the corner of her workbench already like she wanted it to propose to her. It was either this or the men's room with her cellphone set to speed dial Grant.

She pulled out the stopper and downed the formula. Her face grimaced at the retched taste and she gasped at the bitterness, coughing from the aftertaste. It was awful, and she thought briefly of having one of Grant's cookies to get over the horrible flavor, Grant's baking such a delight. But the thought passed. There was no telling if her formula would work at all, and even if it did it wouldn't last long, but if she could just clear her head enough to think and work she could make progress on a better solution, maybe even figure out what was wrong with her. Or she would end up in the hospital, or worse. But she couldn't go on like this.

She felt her body getting hotter, her hands sweaty and her mouth suddenly dry. Then the room started to spin. Elizabeth gripped the edge of her table but it didn't help. She felt so light-headed, like she sometimes did when she forgot to each for a long time, but it didn't stop. And then she felt her legs give way and she crumpled to the floor and the lights went out.

 

[Bevatoria]

She seemed surprised at his question. Aghast, almost. The whole conversation had been surreal, her thinking that he hadn't liked her outfit, her being so out of place, so uncertain...so nice. It was as if Elizabeth wasn't sure how to act around him anymore, redrawing and resetting boundaries to acquiesce to the change in their relationship. And what the hell was their relationship now? Even Grant wasn't sure. Had he established some sort of control over her, or just messed Elizabeth up to the point where she wouldn't be able to be a functional member of society anymore? He'd wanted to test her, knock her down a few pegs, but this, this...

"Need anything?" The way her eyes widened and mouth opened, it was as if Grant had asked her about the weather in Nigeria. "I don't.... I mean I do but... why would you even...?" Further examination showed the culprit, or at least the power behind it; her hips subtly grinded the edge of the stool. And Grant had to keep a smile from his face.

Oh. That.

"Yeah." He responded. "Since you're not feeling well, and all that." Bullshit.

"No.. no... nothing at all, don't need a thing." A shaky hand went through her hair, and Grant shrugged. Her choice, and there were only so many torment he could force on poor Elizabeth.

"Okay." Responded Grant simply. "If you say so." Some demons were enough when simply released on their own, left to linger in the air like the desire that she was clearly still feeling for release. "Your outfit looks great, by the way. On you." He blurted out nervously, all but shaking his head at himself after he did. Why did I just say that?

"I've gotta..." Again, Elizabeth not finishing a sentence as she went back to her workstation. Either she wasn't sure what it was she wanted to do, or didn't want to say. Grant watched her as she walked oddly, and had a feeling it was the former. She really wasn't sure, consciously, even if her body seemed to know. With a shrug, and an idle grunt, Grant returned to his work.

Nobody had seemed to pay too much attention to them talking, although it wasn't as if Grant was looking for anyone while they were doing so. The sound of a broken beaker went through the lab, and Grant found new focus in his irritation as he stormed towards Crawford.

"Was there anything in there?" Obviously, 'anything' wasn't exactly what he meant, but Grant used the word in such a way that it was clear what he meant by anything. It meant something that would contaminate the lab for future experiments or other people. And he had a pretty wide definition of what that meant.

"N-n-n-no."

Grant still scoffed at him. "You know how to clean it up, then." As Crawford went for the dustpan and bag, he looked around, seeing everyone pretending to be interested in their workstations. And Elizabeth, who still seemed to be...Grant blinked twice at the sight of her grinding against-

He shook his head. Focus. You didn't just see that.. Standing over Crawford like an angry parent, he didn't see what Elizabeth did next. What she was looking at, or trying to do.

Her fainting, however, caught everyone's attention. Grant wasn't the first one there - a young woman and a student probably older then him beating him there - but as the authority figure, everyone seemed to look to him even as suggestions were being thrown out. He knelt beside Elizabeth, turning her to her side as two other students flanked him, several of them speaking at once.

"Should we take her to the nurses' office?"
"I think she's faking it."
"Let's try mouth to mouth-"

As delicious as Grant found the possibility, he effortlessly turned his eyes into pits of anger as he looked at the student who suggested that. "She's not choking, she's just a bit lightheaded." He sighed, looking around. "Is anyone else feeling dizzy, nauseous...?"

Several students shaking heads greeted him, and he heard one lone voice. "I think she drank something..." A few gasps of shock, and Grant leaned over his unconscious student, even as his voice was clearly not just for her.

"Don't start rumors. Everyone check their stations to make sure nothing got out by accident." An unlikely possibility, but one Grant would have to check out in any case as he nodded at Crawford. "Let's get her away from the working area to try to get her some fresh air. If she doesn't come to, we'll call for the nurse."

He remembered reading somewhere that a fainted person should stay on their back, and Maria had alertly opened a window at the corner of the room as soon as Grant and Crawford had gently moved her there. Crawford seemed to be stuck in a haze, and Grant scowled at him. "You've got glass to clean up, as I recall..." Several students were busy checking for the cause of this, and as Crawford ran off, Grant found himself alone with her.

Alone studying her. In her tight clothes. Looking so peaceful, so helpless...and he wondered if he actually wanted her to come to.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Elizabeth couldn't stop the fall, the helpless fading of consciousness, her sharp cry of distress that would certainly draw everyone's attention. It was out of her hands and out of her control. She dropped to the lab's hard floor, everything dark.
---
It could have been hours, she really had no idea. It felt like a lifetime. She slowly stirred back to life, feeling like a part of her had died on the floor, or changed at least. Elizabeth felt different. It wasn't the hard floor under her back, she remembered exactly that as her last sensation before everything went black. Nor was it Grant's eyes on her being the first thing she saw as her own eyes fluttered open again for the first time. It felt like his eyes were always on her.

She was embarrassed, though. Ashamed of her weakness, ashamed the whole lab had seen whatever it was that happened to her.

Her formula!

She drank it and passed out. That was bad. But she was still alive. Her mind thinking at least somewhat clearly. It couldn't be too horrible. She closed her eyes and tried to do some sort of internal diagnostic, to figure out what was going on with her. The number one thing she sensed was that her hips were lying still on the hard floor, not grinding and aching for something just beyond her reach. That was good.

Elizabeth sat up suddenly with a gasp, like coming back from the dead. She looked down at herself. What the heck was she wearing? Oh no, she felt like a stripper right before the show, her body all but hanging out of the stupid old clothes, all a size or two too small for her. Her bare legs stretched all the way from the hem of the little skirt down to the high heels on her feet. Heels! Had she somehow managed to walk across campus in those things? She'd sworn she would never ever wear them again after the last disastrous attempt.

Her eyes slowly lifted to Grant, realizing he saw her dressed like this, the whole lab had been looking at her. The memory slowly filtered back. Yes, she had dressed herself like this, just because she thought it would be a hot day and it would be good to look nice! What was so important about looking nice?! "Why... I... I'm half nak... Grant, please, this isn't ok... everybody will see me like this... please let me wear your lab coat." At least she was thinking clearly, the old Elizabeth back and solving problems again. This was bad, but she could fix it.

"Please, I need to run home and change. And... uh... eat something so I don't, you know, faint again." It was a lie, but it was believable. She just needed to get out of here before the heat in her cheeks burned her brain out. She still needed her brain. She had to improve the formula so she could get fully back to normal. She could work on that back in her room and then come back in the morning to finish it. It was critical she work fast. There was no telling when her existing formula would wear off and she'd be stuck grinding her hips against the corners of every desk she passed again. Her fingers reached for the lapel of Grant's lab coat, all but assuming he would help since he had been so kind recently, helping her here after her faint, the delicious cookies, letting her go home early. "Please Grant, I need your help." Her hips twitched the tiniest bit the more times she said his name, but she felt strong enough to fight it back.

 

[Bevatoria]

Grant was only half paying attention, his mind racing with the possibilities of what she could have possibly done, possibly drank to seemingly pass out like this. She wouldn't be brazen enough to mix something in the lab, would she? Someone had suggested it, and while Grant hadn't dismissed the possibility entirely, it seemed unlikely. What motivation would she have to do that. Could Elizabeth possibly be that bored, that far ahead of the game? He'd have to check her numbers and output, along with her reports. At least in more detail then he had. She was doing well, even with the last few days, but...

Someone gasped, and it took a moment for Grant to realize it was Elizabeth who did it, as she sat up suddenly. He was taken aback, slowly pulling away to give her some space (and so she didn't hit him on the way up). Among the interested spectators was a curious Crawford, but Grant spoke first. "Elizabeth? Are you all right. You fainted dead away, and we wanted to be sure..." He paused again, uncertain. Not because of Elizabeth's reaction to his words, exactly. But because she didn't seem to be reacting to them at all, taking in her surroundings, seeming confused about something.

Not about being here- her momentary disorientation seemed to pass quickly, if Grant had any ability to read her. But when she looked down at herself, the source of her confusion became clear.

"Why... I... I'm half nak... Grant, please, this isn't ok... everybody will see me like this... please let me wear your lab coat."

Grant furrowed his brow, not needing to fake his own puzzlement. It seemed like his implanted order hadn't burrowed as deep as he had wanted. Still, it wasn't as if she wasn't technically wrong; she *was* half naked, showing much more skin then usual. Less then many of the girls on campus, to be sure, if more then any of the ones in the lab usually did.

Still, her vulnerability was enticing to him. Seeing her scared, needing his help, desperate for it. He stood up, frowning a bit. "Are you sure, you look fine Elizabeth. I think maybe you just need a little while, get a drink of water or two and-"

"Please, I need to run home and change. And... uh... eat something so I don't, you know, faint again."

Believable. Likely, even, given how little Grant really knew about what had happened. "Are you sure you won't faint again?" The other students had mostly dispersed, pretending to be busy at their stations as they tried to listen in on the private conversation between Grant and Elizabeth. As private as anything could be in the middle of the lab between two adults, one the head of the lab, the other having acted and dressed strangely for the entire session. "I could go with you, walk you home, make sure you don't-"

His eyes followed her hand as she grabbed his lapel. It wasn't a hugely intimate gesture, but coming from the student who had been the bane of his existence mere days ago, it spoke of her desperation to...get away. Get out of the situation. She seemed to all but yank at him as she spoke. "Please Grant, I need your help."

Six words she'd never said before eating one of his cookies. "Let me get my stuff out of here." He mumbled, moving back to his desk and checking the pockets of his coat. Grant was usually pretty good about keeping his wallet and key in his shorts, or pants...basically anywhere but his jackets or lab coats. But it didn't hurt to be thorough, and he didn't want to leave anything for Elizabeth.

Or did he.

Inspiration struck as he walked behind his desk, still patting his pockets as he leaned down to his handbag. A briefcase that any grad student could get away with carrying, he had a few cookies inside of a larger bag; probably the last ones he could reasonably expect to give away from this batch. Moments later, he'd 'accidentally' left two more cookies inside of his lab coat, and he strode back to Elizabeth.

"Here you go." He shrugged off the coat, handing it to her. "I think there's nothing wrong with what you're wearing, for what it's worth...you look good." At this point, the compliment might drive her further back into her shell, but he had to try something.

"If you need anything else, let me know." It wouldn't do for him to remind her she had his number, at this point, Grant figured she was fully aware of that fact.

And of what seemed to happen every time she called him.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Grant was being so nice to her, his eyes looking over her body like he was worried she might have broken something or cut herself when she fell. He meant well but it was just irritating her. The sound of his voice was just stirring up feelings inside she didn't want stirred and she just wished he would... would shut up. "Damn it Grant I'm fine I said. I'm not going to faint again, I don't think. It was just... low blood sugar. I don't know. Or maybe something I ate." Or drank.

Her insides felt hot and twisted up, like two different viruses were having a war in her body, using her mind as a battleground. Elizabeth's wits were collected enough by now to realize that one side in the battle -- the "good guys" she hoped -- was the little formula she had downed minutes earlier. She could feel a little gap growing in the haze that had been wrapped around her for days, the worst of her impulses lurking still but in check for the moment. The other side in the battle was still fighting, still telling her to sneak off to the men's room and touch herself exactly the way she needed, to seek the pleasure that seemed to mean more to her than absolutely anything else, at least until the last couple minutes. She could still feel it, that pleasure still a close second or third. But now she could see her goals, remember her work, let her intelligence solve some problems. It felt good to think again, almost as good as... No, it just felt good. She could say no to the other side's insistent demands. At least for now.

She glanced around as Grant considered her request for the lab coat. Why was he even thinking? Didn't he see the way she was dressed? She looked... trashy, like she was putting herself on display. He had to realize she'd made some horrible mistake, must have dressed in the dark or something. Elizabeth was not the kind of girl who ever wore something like this, everyone knew that, everyone. That's why the stuff was in the bottom of all her drawers. She hadn't even seen the tight skirt in at least a year.

As her hand reached for his coat, half communicating how important her request for help was, and half almost wanting to just rip it off him, like she could barely control her impulses, she looked around the room. So many eyes were on them, looking at her half-sitting, half-lying half-naked on the floor, clutching at Grant. What must they think? She pulled her hand back, afraid people would get the totally wrong idea about what was going on.

Grant offered to walk her home. She stared at him for a second. Why was he being so nice, but not giving her the lab coat. It was like he didn't even realize half the boys in the lab were openly staring at her bare legs even now. Was he that clueless? "Grant, please, that's a sweet offer and I really appreciate it, but I... I just need to get out of here, be on my own until I feel better. Please, I just need your lab coat. Everyone's... " she glanced around meaningfully, her eyes spotting Crawford hovering nearby at a filing cabinet for no reason. "Everyone's staring at me, at my legs, the way I'm dressed. My God, my hair! I don't even have my cap!" Her words had drifted into expressing private thoughts not really even meant for Grant, but she didn't notice, the embarrassment of her carefully constructed image of distant and indifferent superiority being chipped away every second she sat on the lab floor half naked and being stared at.

Finally he seemed to understand and Elizabeth sighed as Grant rose to his feet over her. She pushed herself up fully with her arms behind her until she was sitting with her legs stretched out in front of her, carefully held together in a way she wasn't used to when wearing jeans most of the time. He was fumbling in his pockets, pulling a few odds and ends out and putting them on his desk so she wouldn't inconvenience him by taking something important away while she wore his coat to cover her exposed parts. Grant rummaged behind his desk for a moment, and then awkwardly shrugging out of the coat as he turned back to her.

He came back to where she sat, the coat in his hand and offered it to her. She looked up, not taking it from him yet, feeling awkward with him standing over her like that in a way she couldn't understand at all. The way he told her that there was nothing wrong with what she was wearing, that he even thought she looked good, it didn't help her mood at all. Elizabeth furrowed her brow at him but didn't chew him out. She didn't want to look good. She didn't want the men in power and her peers in the lab to see her as pretty eye candy like so many other girls here. That's not what she was about, exactly why she was always so careful to dress down, not draw attention to herself or at least not to her body, or even to her hair. When they looked at her Elizabeth wanted her peers to see a superior intellect, not a girl in a short skirt showing off pretty legs they could drool over.

Elizabeth couldn't take the coat from him while she was down on the floor. That wasn't how superior intellects did things. She ignored Grant's offered hand and struggled to her feet on her own, finding getting up in the high heels to be a struggle, especially trying to do it while keeping her legs together in the tiny tight skirt. She twisted her knees to the side and then got up slowly from a crouch. Finally standing in front of Grant, eye to eye with the added height of the heels, she thanked him with a mumble and took the coat. She put it on and wrapped it tight around herself, and immediately felt better as many of the boys in the lab just looked away once her body was no longer on display. But somehow, standing in Grant's coat, smelling something, like the scent of him basically or something else faint enough she coudn't identify, it made her buzz inside, and she needed all her newly rediscovered self-control to keep from flitting off to the bathroom.

"Thanks." That was it. She turned and headed back to her station. She saw the tube lying on the table top, but basically ignored her mess. She just turned off the power to the centrifuge, picked up her cellphone and walked as carefully as she could in the heels across the floor and out of the lab, not turning to look if any eyes were following her. She couldn't bear to know.

The war inside her continued the whole way, her eyes on boys, checking out other girls and wondering in their revealing outfits and wondering if Grant had really thought she was pretty, like them, or if he was just being nice. But then she shoved those thoughts aside as fast as she could, not wanting to follow them to their logical destination: her lying on the floor in her room, naked and with her hands between her legs, probably sex-calling Grant again when she got desperate enough. Her formula was working. If she focused hard, she could think about other things think about what she wanted to think about. Her work, finding a solution for her problem.

She stormed up the stairs and tripped in her heels on the second floor landing she was in such a rush. Elizabeth bent down and pulled off the heels as the guys shooting the breeze there on the benches teased her again. "No, don't take them off, you look so sexy. Take off the coat instead." Elizabeth frowned. They were supposed to tease her for being a super-smart geek girl, not taunt her like a stripper on her day off.

She rushed up the rest of the stairs barefoot, heels in her left hand, and crashed through her door and slammed it behind her, breathing hard. But at least this time she could work on her problem, not just give in to it. Elizabeth settled down at her laptop and started googling. She could feel the effects of her viruses and started searching the databases for any known interactions with what she'd taken, any possible explanation. It was as if the scientific community had never come across something like this before, ever. There was no information, nothing even close to her symptoms being affected by what she'd taken, and yet it was exactly what the blood sample had tested out for. Something was really fishy here.

As Elizabeth worked through the afternoon, sending queries further afield, into private databases she only knew about because of her father, the lie she'd told Grant started to come true. She was hungry, feeling faint again. The buzzing in her head and tingles along her spine were getting stronger.

Her first impulse was to ignore the hunger and keep going, the way she usually did. Eating when there was work to be done was for the weak and the stupid, a last resort Elizabeth seldom bothered with when she didn't absolutely have to. But given the way she felt her symptoms slowly, slowly creeping back in, slowly clouding her thoughts, she thought it best to take care of herself. She felt she was weak, maybe not stupid, but her normal strength and confidence sapped away by the last few days experiences.

She got up on her bare feet and padded over to her kitchen. Nothing but the same stale food she'd ignored a few nights earlier. But something smelled good. Maybe she should change into jeans and a baggy sweatshirt and go to the grocery store. She was feeling fainter the longer she waited, like the viruses she'd swallowed were as nasty wearing off as they'd been taking effect.

Elizabeth shrugged out of the lab coat and tossed it on the kitchen table. She walked over to her dresser to get some jeans out for the grocery expedition, but stopped short at the sight of herself in the mirror. Her hair was down and thick and lustrous, like a glamorous dark cloud around her face. She pushed her glasses up and looked at her clothes. They really were too small, but maybe it was possible she didn't look so bad. Maybe she looked almost as good as those other girls. Some guys liked skinny girls, she knew that. She turned to the side, like she'd seen her mother do enough times when deciding which dress to wear for an academic party. Somehow Mom had always managed to allow men to see her as a woman, and still treat her as a scientist, but how much had she given up? Maybe she would have been the famous one if she'd acted more like Elizabeth, instead of being the famous one's wife, ending up the way she eventually did.

She turned the other way, noticing how her butt stuck out in the tight skirt, the way the bit of bare midriff showed off her skinniness as if it was a good thing. Boys had been looking at her. Elizabeth could feel the stirring coming back, her fingers aching to touch, the desire to explore her own desirability, to wallow in it, growing stronger. She needed to eat something, now.

Elizabeth didn't have time to change. She would just dash to the store like this, in her bare feet so she wouldn't trip on the way. Maybe she could just put the lab coat on. That would do. She was already at the door, but stopped and went back to the table to pull Grant's coat back on, her fingers just picking it up and already smelling that delightful scent she was starting to think of as his. She pulled the coat to her nose and inhaled, and couldn't help thinking of his face, the sound of his voice. Those words... no! No, don't think those words!

She put the coat down. She couldn't wear it or she'd end up behind some bushes some place playing with herself and calling for Grant. She still had enough of her faculties working to know how bad that would be, especially with how much noise she kept making when everything just got to be too much for her.

But as she set the coat down, there was a little lump in the right pocket. Hadn't he checked it? Grant could be so careless. He would never amount to anything, not like her. She reached in and pulled out a cookie, and then another. She held them to her nose and inhaled, then inhaled deeper. That was it, the scent she craved so badly, the scent of Grant that was embedded in her mind like a splinter she just couldn't pull out. It was the cookies. She was so hungry. And if she didn't eat, she might end up right back where she was the last two days. The cookies were good, but they weren't hers. With one cookie next to her lips, so close to just taking a little bite out of it, just a nibble, she stopped herself and put them down on the table with shaking fingers. Maybe they were his lunch. Maybe Grant had nothing to eat now. Elizabeth just stared at the cookies, her thoughts whirring around in her head like a couple of puppies chasing each other around a couch.

She picked up her cellphone and dialed Grant's number. The memories flooded in just from that simple act, like it was etched in her brain like a permanent humiliation, what she'd been calling him for the last few days. "Grant? Hello, it's me. Elizabeth. From the lab? Yes, I... I'm fine mostly. It's not... I don't.... I'm not calling you to... well, you know. I just... it's just that I found two of your cookies in your lab coat's pocket and I was worried you might have planned to eat them for lunch maybe." She felt silly saying it. Normal people ate normal lunches, not like her. "I... I mean, if you weren't though, if you don't, uh, mind, maybe I could have them, or one I mean?" The cookie was back in her fingers, her nose inhaling the scent again, even though she didn't remember picking it up. She remembered to be polite, that mattered when asking for things, she knew. "Please?"

 

[Bevatoria]

The world was in slow motion at that moment, the way Elizabeth focused on him before taking the 'gift' he'd offered her. More then one, even if only one was intended as a favor.

"Thanks." A quick, almost stuttered word from Elizabeth as she hurried back to her station, his jacket covering her. Even as he wished she wasn't wearing it - that she still felt 'comfortable' in her tight blouse, short skirt, and heels - it still looked better on her then him. On him, it was formless, unnecessary, unflattering. On her, it hid something secret, beautiful, tantalizing. As many things as Grant was (and liked to think he was), those were not words he would often use to describe himself. They weren't words used for men; brutish creatures they were. But on women, the mystical breathtaking forms they could take...

The click of her heels seemed to ring through the lab as she left, and Grant noticed a few people looking on bewildered. "This isn't the first time someone's left early, is it?" He all but snapped, gazing at the few lazy putzes that were still wishing Elizabeth was still here. "Get back to work."

It said something about his tone that although the students in the lab didn't have to listen to him, they did.

He left the lab two hours later, with one graduate student left; a bookish blonde peering down at her microscope, Grant doing his checks to ensure nothing had been left out or not cleaned up. Those were both offenses that could easily get one's lab privileges revoked, and during his year and a half overseeing the lab, nobody had. But when working with the materials that these students and professors did, Grant was never too careful. Eventually, satisfied with his efforts, he headed to the door, turning back to the one remaining occupant.

"Everything's locked up, Marie. I'll see you tomorrow."

The fact she didn't look up seemed to indicate she had heard him, and with that, Grant walked out. Back to his office for an hour to finish up some paperwork. Another lockup, a short drive home, stopped only by a quick stop for take out chinese food. Even with only the single bag and backpack, getting the door open without spilling it all was an awkward affair, and he found himself grateful for the simple table to leave his food on while he worked on his entirely theoretical affair.

It would be time for a new batch of cookies tomorrow. Similar enough ones that Elizabeth would hopefully not think it suspicious that Grant had an everlasting supply; maybe she would think it a favor that he had done this for her. Maybe she would hardly think at all, her only mind for her own pleasure, as it had been twice now, as Grant wished it to be again and again, over and over, debasing herself for his perverted whims, long lost fantasies, lustful endeavors to satisfy the whims of a lonely, desperate man...

Ah. The phone. One way to break a reverie. It was not who he hoped, but only his mother, the start of a half hour long series of 'Yes, Mum' and 'No, I haven't met a girl yet Mum', and 'I'm not studying anymore, this is a job now Mum'. Pacing around the middle of his living room, crouching, leaning against the wall, doing anything but sitting down. God, why did she have to persist in questions that had the same answers? Especially about women, he reflected roughly forty minutes later after she ended the phone call. What business of hers was it who he dated? Or who he-

Another ring made him nervous, and Grant found himself almost afraid to check the caller id. If it were her again, maybe he should hang up, pretend he wasn't there, or on another call...

No. This was the treat. Elizabeth.

Grant almost dropped the phone in his urgency to pick it up, desperately trying to regulate his own breathing even as she spoke first. "Grant? Hello, it's me. Elizabeth. From the lab?"

Gulp. As if there was anyone else. "Are you all right, Elizabeth?" He had almost forgotten that they were no longer lab instructor and student, but something else entirely. She had other reason for calling him now.

"Yes, I... I'm fine mostly. It's not... I don't.... I'm not calling you to... well, you know. I just... it's just that I found two of your cookies in your lab coat's pocket and I was worried you might have planned to eat them for lunch maybe."

A simple enough thought. "Ah, well, um, I had, but obviously I can't now, since you have them. Don't worry about it." A practiced stutter that came all too easily to him. "Do what you want with them."

"I... I mean, if you weren't though, if you don't, uh, mind, maybe I could have them, or one I mean?" A moment passed, and Elizabeth asked again. "Please?"

Finally, he found the source of his power returning, and Grant stood up. Time to add on another torture to her list, subtle machinations to turn her into his plaything. No more the scientist, now the dispenser of delights. He slowly paced over to his seat as he spoke, wanting to get comfortable. "Have them both, Elizabeth. I insist." A dry smirk on his face. "No sense in saving them for me; after all, I can always make more. Go ahead and enjoy them. Savor them."

On his first attempt with the cookie, it had taken a while for his subtle biological programming to kick in. Would it be any faster now? No way to find out other then to ask; after all, it wasn't as if Elizabeth could talk about how she'd called him to ask about cookies, of all things.

"So are you feeling any better? Or were you feeling any more of the 'urges' you were telling me about earlier?" A one sided smile became two, although he resisted the desire to loosen his own belt. "You can tell me about them, you know. About what you wanted to do, what you thought you should do...to satisfy those urges. You can trust me, Elizabeth."

And in a twisted way, she could.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Elizabeth's mind was taken over by a few clashing thoughts as Grant told her she could have the cookies. He could make more? For some reason that thought set her heart beating. Elizabeth never really cared about food very much, just enough to nourish her body and keep her healthy was all, but somehow these cookies were like the best thing she'd ever tasted, and the sudden realization they could run out and she might not have any more, but Grant could make more, was both frightening and reassuring.

And she wasn't taking these two away from him, he wanted her to have them. Grant even insisted she eat them! It would be almost... wrong... not to eat them. To savor them and enjoy them like he wanted.

He was still talking but Elizabeth found she was already nibbling a first crunchy bite from one of the cookies, crumbs loose on her lips and the sound of the cookie crunching loud enough for Grant to hear, she was sure. She scarcely even thought about the action of bringing it to her lips, holding it delicately in her fingertips so she wouldn't lose even a single crumb, biting down with her teeth and keeping her lips softly over it as she bit so she would get every bit of flavor, every scent of it in her mouth and nose. She was lost in the experience of the cookie, a personal little heaven, and not even aware she had finished the first one and was licking her fingers as Grant asked his questions.

She looked at the second cookie, some animal part of her on the edge of devouring it in a single bite at most, two tops, but she could hear Grant's voice and his questions buzzed in her head louder than the urge to eat the second cookie, at least for the moment. His questions were important. It just felt that way to her, even though she couldn't exactly explain why. It was just an intuition, or a hunch, the kind she always got in the lab when she just knew what was right, what she simply had to do if she wanted an experiment to turn out right. It was part of her gift, her genius, this certainty of what had to be done and when. And she just knew she had to answer him.

But she didn't want to. She could feel the answers were welling up from parts of her body other than her brain and she didn't want to talk about them at all. But Grant's questions were important. How could she hold the truth back from him? He made these wonderful cookies, and maybe she loved them so much she was afraid he would never make any more for her if she didn't answer? She couldn't figure it out, just felt it completely, that she had to answer him.

It was hard though. "I... well, I was feeling a little better. You know how I've...well, you know, how I've been on the... on the phone with you? The last couple days when..." Her face was burning bright even though he couldn't see her. Her embarrassment was so overwhelming she couldn't keep it out of her voice either and her fingers ached to just disconnect the call and jump back the shower's warm water, to get her fingers all soapy and sudsy and smother her shame in a warm blanket of pleasure, but could she even do that while she was holding back answers from Grant? She wasn't sure, she didn't know, and Elizabeth hated that feeling, the uncertainty. She couldn't take the chance.

"Well, when I called you from the... m-m-mens room? And the n-night before? Those urges? I managed to, uh, get them a little bit under control, enough so I could function again a little today in the lab -- no thanks to the stupid doctor who was more interested in staring at my legs than helping me. But I didn't need him. The mixture of viruses I cooked up in the lab seemed to help, at least for awhile. I just wish they helped longer because..." She really didn't want to say this. She could feel where this was heading, her hips already starting to move, pressing forward against the corner of the table and grinding ever so slightly as she thought about Grant knowing this about her. Again. "... because... it's kind of back, getting stronger you know? Again? I... I think after I have the second cookie -- I ate the first one already, it was so good thank you Grant -- after the cookie I might have to go back to the lab and make a stronger formula, if I can c-c-concentrate enough. Or in the m-morning at worst." Her free hand was up under her skirt, and her right leg was lifted up with her foot resting on the chair, letting her fingers play with the warm fabric of her panties between her legs, feeling how moist it was already, and her pelvis kept grinding as her touch slowly grew more insistent and focused.

"I... maybe... Oh God, Grant, it's so hard to think clearly like this, to figure out how to make my formula more effective. All I can think about is.... is..." How could she possibly say something like this out loud? But how could she not? Elizabeth was trembling and her words grew softer, her breath coming short as she got closer and closer to the truth. "Can't stop... wanting to... touch myself. Just need so... so b-b-bad to... you know... c-c-c-cum. Needing it again, the way... the way I felt with you on the phone... that's the only way it feels right, it's the only way I could clear my head even for a few minutes... even better than my formula. i just can't stop, Grant. And my formula only worked for a little while, and not completely, and now I can't think anymore, not enough to improve the formula and I can't stop... can't stop touching myself again, and how am I going to fix this? What am I going to do? Please, you have to help me... help me fix my formula... or... ohhhhh." She sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers began seriously stroking intense little circles, her hips bucking against nothing but her own hand, feeling the desire for so much more. "I trust you Grant... please, I do. Just help me. I don't have anyone else to turn to. Oh, ohhhh..." Not herself, not her father, not any doctor. No one. Just Grant. He was the only one who cared about her at this point, the only one she could trust. How weird was that? Her face was red with shame but she couldn't silence herself. He was her only hope and she had to answer him, the truth, no matter how much she hated it.

 

[Bevatoria]

He could feel her hesitation even through the phone. In a way, Grant was hesitating too, with how he'd even brought up this issue. How far did his control extend while she was eating the cookies? He had to know. It would do not good keeping her in a small cage if he had the world, and likewise if she was to regain control if he pushed her too far, he had to know. And so, he took in her answer. Every detail, every word.

"I... well, I was feeling a little better. You know how I've...well, you know, how I've been on the... on the phone with you? The last couple days when..."

Grant wished she could see his smirk right now. His belt was off, his hand idly stroking his midsection, waiting for her to say more even as he imagined her embarrassment, her total humiliation at admitting her weakness to anyone. Least of all to him, the man who supposedly had nothing for her, could teach and prove nothing, who suddenly had her under his thumb. And she had no idea. Her voice was weak, unsure, as she continued.

"Well, when I called you from the... m-m-mens room? And the n-night before? Those urges? I managed to, uh, get them a little bit under control, enough so I could function again a little today in the lab -- no thanks to the stupid doctor who was more interested in staring at my legs than helping me. But I didn't need him. The mixture of viruses I cooked up in the lab seemed to help, at least for awhile. I just wish they helped longer because..."

His arousal paused, his hand pulling out from under his boxers, his head cocked as he considered her statement. She was working on an antidote? In the lab? This was not good. At least she hadn't managed to put events together yet, but the fact her intellect was now indirectly pitted against his did not bode well for him. Grant was proud, but even as he was not intelligent, he was not a fool. She would win on even terms, and even if he had something tilted in his favour, she'd probably beat him.

But if he skewed the field enough...if she was under the spell of his cookies, needing to cum, needing to unleash her desire wherever she was. "..because what, Elizabeth?"

"... because... it's kind of back, getting stronger you know? Again? I... I think after I have the second cookie -- I ate the first one already, it was so good thank you Grant -- after the cookie I might have to go back to the lab and make a stronger formula, if I can c-c-concentrate enough. Or in the m-morning at worst."

She wasn't the only one. Even as Grant inadvertently felt himself getting hard at her breathy, uneasy words, her desire finding expression in her stuttering, he knew he'd have to work, too. After the phone call. After he made sure she would wait until the morning.

"I... maybe... Oh God, Grant, it's so hard to think clearly like this, to figure out how to make my formula more effective. All I can think about is.... is..."

His eyes shut, his hand finding purchase again under his boxers. "Tell me, Elizabeth." His voice was dreamy, Grant's mind lost in dark and delicious fantasy at the female voice on the other end of the line.

"Can't stop... wanting to... touch myself. Just need so... so b-b-bad to... you know... c-c-c-cum. Needing it again, the way... the way I felt with you on the phone... that's the only way it feels right, it's the only way I could clear my head even for a few minutes... even better than my formula. i just can't stop, Grant. And my formula only worked for a little while, and not completely, and now I can't think anymore, not enough to improve the formula and I can't stop... can't stop touching myself again, and how am I going to fix this? What am I going to do? Please, you have to help me... help me fix my formula... or... ohhhhh."

Her deep breath was followed by one of his own as his hand found his member, and Grant started to stroke himself, pushing his own boxers down so that he was free. He ignored the feel of the air on his midsection, focusing only on his cock tensing, and the few sounds he could make out aside from Elizabeth's talking.

"I trust you Grant... please, I do. Just help me. I don't have anyone else to turn to. Oh, ohhhh..."

Jesus. She trusted him enough to share this much with him. It took all of his willpower not to rub one out just to her moaning, her teasing over the phone, but he had to hold back. Grant gulped, his own hand pausing as he let her breathe, let her take in the moment, before he continued.

"The first thing you need to realize Elizabeth, is that it's healthy to have these desires. It's okay to want to have pleasure, to let it out once in a while. This is just some repressed part of you finding expression. We just need to find a healthy way to let your feelings out. To find the true cause of this." He took in a breath. "I need you to get comfortable."

He didn't want to push it, merely tease the boundaries. "And I need you to be honest with me, Elizabeth. You don't want to touch yourself, but tell me...are you enjoying it? Do you like these feelings that you're experiencing?" Back on his cock, slowly squeezing it, rubbing it even as his true focus was on the woman at the other end of the line.

"Do you crave more? Experiences and sensations that you can't have merely by your own hand? Things that no matter how much you think about them, fantasize about them, that won't get out of your mind?" Lustfully, terribly, he couldn't let her get there herself. "Are you looking to get fucked, Elizabeth?"

This could be a mistake, he knew.

 

[skittish_butterfly]

Elizabeth, even feeling as desperate and out of control as she was, couldn't help feeling impressed at how helpful Grant was, the way he talked to her. She was used to thinking of him as an inferior insect she had to tolerate in order to have access to the things she needed in the lab. She scarcely ever thought about the fact he was older, that he might know things she didn't, might understand things she didn't. Hearing him tell her that her desires were healthy, that the pleasure she couldn't stop craving was ok, it made him seem so considerate and she felt her aching soft parts yearn for even more from him. Of course, that was exactly the opposite of the help she wanted, but she found herself whispering "thank you" for the kind words even more, and shivering as her mind dwelled once again on the memory of his face.

Grant went on, talking about finding a healthy way to let these things out. She didn't want to let them out, no, she wanted to stuff all these overpowering messy feelings back inside her heart and lock them up tight again where they wouldn't get in the way of her work. But she couldn't, could she. Was that what he was saying? Elizabeth heard him take a breath, couldn't help thinking in that moment, the way he was talking to her, trying to help, sounded so much like the therapist her dad had made her talk to the year after losing Mom. Just like the therapist, Grant was trying so hard to be helpful, even though there couldn't possibly be any real help, not the help she needed, not unless she could mix it for herself in the lab. But her warm feelings for Grant just got further and further up inside her the more he tried, feeling like he was the only person who really even cared about her.

Grant told her to make herself comfortable. "I'm trying," she said in a frustrated, desperate, whisper,feeling the hard corner of the table pressing into her damp panties as her pelvis couldn't stop grinding. He didn't seem bothered by her frustrated little outburst though, every bit as patient with her as the therapist had been. He needed her to be honest with him. Elizabeth swallowed hard, memories of the therapists unanswerable questions lodged suddenly like a bitter lump in her throat, but nodding. "Ok." Her voice sounded so weak, so small, not sounding like the Elizabeth she worked so hard to be, the one in control. "I'll try."

He asked his question, getting right to the point, not hiding from what they both knew she was doing right that very second. It was obvious in her breath, her little gasps. He knew. She had to be honest. She didn't want to be, wanted to hang up, to tell him to mind his own business. She should have! Why couldn't she? But she had to be honest with Grant and the thought of it made her press herself against the table and then pull back and slip her fingers inside her panties, needing to touch herself even more directly. Honesty. She had to be honest with him. And her fingers stroked, soaked and slick the moment they touched the warmth between her legs.

"I... no, I don't want to, but I... I can't stop, you know? And I, I like it yes, sort of. It feels incredible I mean." Why was she telling him these things? A small sliver of her brain screamed at her, hang up the phone, Elizabeth! But she couldn't, she had to be honest with him. "But it's, it's frustrating. it's like my body just wants... I can't.... I need more, need to feel it again, like what you gave me before, and I feel like I can only get close when I think of you, remember your voice telling me to... to cum, ohhh oh God..." she stopped talking for a moment as her hips bucked at the thought of it, bumping her fingers into the table but stroking even more insistently, half wondering if he would just say it, just let her feel it again, hoping he would.

But he needed to know more first, and she had to be honest, couldn't help it anymore. As she stroked herself, knowing Grant could hear the wet, sloppy sounds her fingers were making just as cleary as she could, she needed even more to tell him whatever he wanted to know. "But I can't... can't reach what I need, not by myself Grant, and it's the worst feeling in the world, and the best too, I can't understand it."

Did she crave more? The thought of it made her shake and moan, and he must have heard the sound of the table legs scraping as her thrusts pushed it slowly across the floor, her grinding hips and stroking fingers chasing it. She couldn't answer him right away, not with words, just listening to his question and feeling the need in her body building up even more, like Grant's words were even more delicious than his cookies and she needed to listen to him.

"Yes, Grant, yes yes yes." She was honest with him, "I need more, my fingers aren't enough, grinding myself agaisnt the table, my pillow in the bed, the doorknob, a shoe, nothing works Grant, I told you the truth, please, please, help me, let me cum." She said it, she needed it, honesty.

But not yet, Grant had that last question. "Fucked?" Just saying it out loud, loud enough for Grant to hear her, made her body tremble inside. Why did that powerful but dirty word explode in her head like a firecracker? "No, no, no. " Even as she shook her head in denial, Elizabeth felt a strange sensation in her head, everything felt wrong, and she realized she was trying to be dishonest with him, with herself. "No, well, I mean..." She was almost panting, her forehead shining with sweat, and her glasses slightly steamed, her stroking fingers even wetter. The thought of telling him the truth scared her to the core, but excited her more than she could believe. She had to put the phone down on the table and stab at the speaker button so her hand could touch her nipples, sliding up under her shirt to squeeze them and feel how hard they were.

"Yes." It was the single hardest word she could remember saying in her life. But she thought of all the boys looking at her in the quad, looking at her legs, at her hair, thought about them wanting her, and thought about how her own eyes had looked at them. She thought about Grant. Thought about his face. His voice. Grant's voice. It was true. Elizabeth started to shake as she faced the truth. "Yes, I... I do... I think I'm looking to get fucked, that's what it means when a girl feels like this. I need to get fucked." She felt like she wanted to whither up and die, she was so embarrassed saying these things to Grant, but she just wanted him to help her cum first, to let her die happy.