EJAX-472: Ch. 08

"Christiana does very well on her own doctor," Michelle said. "She doesn't need trustees breathing down her neck every time they demand her to account for each penny spent."

"Nonsense! She will only have to account to me. Trust me Christiana. I will give you free reign over everything in this place. You will make scientific history within these walls and I will give you all the help you need!"

"Forgive me, Dr. Hagstrom," Rebecca said. "Dr. Swensen has been satisfied up to this point with my assistance and that of her staff at the Clinic. She doesn't have to answer to anyone, not to me, not to some University trustee, and certainly not to you."

"Ah!" Dr. Hagstrom laughed. "You are like me huh? You like to speak from the hip, as they say. Okay. I only ask the nice doctor to think about it. You do not have to make any decisions. If you are interested Christiana, you let me know and I will take care of everything for you."

"A most tempting offer doctor," I said, feeling a bit wary of such a flagrant display of generosity. "I will consider it."

"Good! Good!" she said, eagerly shaking my hand. "That's all I ask, that you consider it. Nothing more!"

And with that, she made her way out, only stopping to tell her students that they should remain to see Craig masturbated and then return to class.

"You don't have to be so protective of me Rebecca," I said. "I almost feel like I have Bonnie looking over my shoulders."

"That woman is devious. Did you hear what she said? She will 'give you all the help you need.' That's bullshit Chris. What she's saying is that she will maneuver the University into funding your projects onher terms. You'll have to answer to them for everything you do."

"Maybe and maybe not. If I could get some research money out of them..."

Rebecca shook her head. "Forget it. They're going to want your soul."

"Christiana?" Sheila said. "Can we get this guy drained so we can all go home?"

"Oh, of course," I said, forgetting that Craig had to give a sample. "I want him to ejaculate into a beaker and a quick test done on the sample to make certain the sperm has returned to normal motility." I turned to Rebecca. "We'll discuss this matter another time."

"Fine. Just remember what I said."

Having fulfilled her obligation she accompanied me to the examining table.

"My!" Rebecca said, watching Craig fondle his penis. "Looks like this poor boy needs to cum."

"We can take care of that straight away," Jennifer said. "Are you ready Craig?"

"Sure Dr. Barlow. Anytime you say."

"Sit up and turn your body toward us."

Craig did as she asked.

"You girls can stand all around him to watch but don't get in the way," she said to the students.

"Here's the beaker," Sheila said, handing it to Jennifer.

"Can I hold it?" the pretty, brown-eyed girl said, reaching out her hands to Jennifer.

Jennifer placed the receptacle in the girl's hands. "Just remember to place the neck over the tip of his penis. Otherwise we'll have sperm flying all over the place."

All the girls laughed at this.

"Better hold that bottle steady Astrid!" teased one of the students.

"All set?" Jennifer asked Craig.

He nodded. "It shouldn't take much doctor."

"Okay. Cheryl, you can do the honors. Just aim the head into the rim. And you, er, Astrid, do as your friend says and don't flinch."

"Yes, doctor," Astrid replied, sneaking a look at her friends and giggling.

The student nurses gathered around to watch Cheryl's fine handjob, commenting on her technique and on Craig's spectacular physique. Astrid held the mouth of the beaker a few inches from the tip of Craig's prick, her eyes fixated on his massive tool, eagerly awaiting the eruption of white lava. When he started to moan, the students cheered Cheryl on, demanding that she increase the speed of her attack. Obliging them, she fisted him furiously until he was ready to explode. He looked at the group of giggling students surrounding him—all of them completely absorbed by the highly erotic sight—and felt nothing except an overwhelming lust and joy at being the sexual plaything for their combined amusement. Their suggestive comments and incessant giggling added even more impetus to Cheryl's merciless handjob until finally he could withstand no more.

"Now!" Cheryl said to Astrid, as the boy's balls rose up high in their sac.

Astrid, fully aware that his orgasm was imminent, gingerly stuck the neck of the beaker over the huge crown, as dozens of curious and smiling faces drew close to watch the explosion of sperm.

"He's going to cum now," said a petite student with pink ribbons in her hair.

No sooner had she made that prophetic announcement than Craig's body suddenly tensed up. Cheryl smiled as she felt the first wave of hot sperm bubble up from the base of his shaft to seek joyous exit from his heaving loins. Her incessant stroking provoked a massive load of sperm from his balls, the first few jets splashing wildly into the container and forming long streams of paste that trickled down from the sides. The student nurses, as well as my colleagues and I, shouted our approval as rope after rope of semen sailed into the beaker. Astrid was so excited at seeing the constant stream of cum that she nearly dropped the beaker from laughing so hard.

"Oh! That's amazing!" she laughed, as she watched the contents of his penis fill the beaker.

"Keep it steady!" Cheryl warned her. "He's not done yet!"

But the girl could not contain herself any longer, and the beaker fell from her hands as she fell back into the crowd, laughing hysterically.

"Don't stop!" Craig begged, as Cheryl tried in vain to reclaim the receptacle.

Astrid lay on the floor convulsed with laughter, the beaker resting on its side by her feet. Thankfully it wasn't broken. But now, without anything to contain to sperm, the girls moved back a few steps, waiting to see what would happen next. They didn't have to wait long. And this time Craig's cock exploded more violently than before.

To their immense delight, a huge arc of cum shot high up into the air directly over my own head, traces of its aftermath flying in all directions. A good portion of it landed in Astrid's hair.

"Oh, shit!" she exclaimed, as she reached up and felt the gooey mess cascade down the side of her face. "Yuck, it's sticky!"

The student nurses laughed at their fallen comrade and then dashed away in all directions as Craig's cock continued to send out stream after stream of hot spunk. My colleagues and I had already made it safely to one side of the room, but Astrid and a few of her not so quick classmates received generous portions of the wayward sperm all over their faces and clothes. Several of the girls screamed and ran out of the lab, heading down the hall. The place was in an uproar.

After his orgasm ended, the students gave him a hearty round of applause and quickly exited the room on their way to their individual classes, all of them chatting excitedly over the event they had just witnessed. Astrid was the last to leave, actually taking the time to thank me for letting her and her friends observe his masturbation.

"You can get cleaned up now," I said to Craig. "And thank you. I appreciate all you've done for me."

"Happy to do it doctor," he replied. "Now me and the other guys can get back on an even keel."

Despite the tremendous amount of spunk ejaculated, it wasn't nearly as much as he had shot just the night before, and Craig looked thrilled that his penis had now returned to some semblance of normalcy.

After congratulating me on the success of the drug, Jennifer and Sheila retrieved the beaker full of sperm and returned with it to an adjoining lab for analysis.

"I got a little cum on my dress," Michelle said to me.

"Me too," I replied, pointing to my shoulder.

"Well, no harm done. At least he's back to normal."

"Seems so," I said, as I watched the exhausted young man lay himself down onto the table.

"What did you think of Anna?"

"A real character, I'd say."

"She could do a lot for you Chris, but there would be a price to pay."

I looked at Rebecca. She had heard Michelle's remark and grimaced as if in silent warning.

"Such as sacrificing my autonomy?" I said, feeling uneasy.

"You want the money, you have to play their game. That's the only drawback."

"That's too big of a concession to make," Rebecca said. "The Clinic has its own private funding. We've gotten by on that just fine."

"Don't lie to me Rebecca," Michelle replied. "I know you've been having financial difficulties as of late. All I'm doing is making a suggestion, that's all. The choice is yours."

Rebecca looked at me and sighed. "You know how I feel about this Christiana. But Michelle's right. The decision is up to you. Just be careful."

Michelle frowned. "I suppose I should get somebody in here to clean up all this sperm!"

Just then Craig let out a low moan as Cheryl took a towel to his genitals. Her own hands and blouse were dripping with semen.

"From now on," she said, gently grabbing his cock, "this belongs to me."

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

It was an austere, old-fashioned, and claustrophobic-looking apartment building located on the corner of Berndt Street in the seedier western section of Stockholm where the meeting was to take place. The ancient brownstone edifice stood four stories high, unchanged in every aspect since its construction nearly 100 years earlier. The second-floor apartment was dark and gloomy, although kept meticulously clean by its tenant. She had purchased the unit completely furnished and she loved the antique and obsolete-looking furniture that surrounded her, reminding her of a bygone era into which she felt she ultimately belonged.

It was almost 5:30 PM and her guest was late. It had been several days since she had last spoken with the woman from the University and she was running out of time. The sporadic communication between them she found highly unsatisfactory, and it had driven her mad at times, but the woman had warned her that they must keep a very low profile or risk jeopardizing their plans.

A half hour passed and the sun was beginning to cast long shadows over the city. She sipped her tea and continued to wait, getting up to look out the window and gaze down upon the traffic below every few minutes hoping to catch a glimpse of her tardy visitor. Finally, at around 6:30 PM, she noticed a tall, thin woman, dressed impeccably in a blue blazer and skirt, hastily cross the street and enter into the building. She heard the front door close followed by a quick ascent up the creaking staircase. She met her visitor at the door, not waiting for the woman to knock.

"Where have you been?" she asked ill-temperedly as she admitted the woman.

The tall woman, somewhat put off by this unexpected display of truculence, walked toward the middle of the room and turned to face her inquisitor.

"I had to stay late at the University. There was an important meeting of faculty and staff, and I could not get out any earlier. I am sorry."

"That school is run by a bunch of fools," she said, still annoyed. "Oh well, I suppose you couldn't help it. Please, sit down. We have much to discuss."

The tall woman sat down on an old green sofa, her body sinking halfway down into it. It smelled of mildew. Looking around the apartment she noticed that there was no hint of any modern conveniences, not even a television. It was as if she had been transported to a previous century.

"Very charming this apartment, and very old."

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No, I am fine. Let us get down to business now okay? I cannot stay here too long."

"As you wish."

Millicent Beechcroft sat down next to the tall woman and surveyed her features in the dim light of the setting sun. There was a slight, almost imperceptible resemblance between the two women, with the only major difference being that Dr. Hagstrom wore her glasses on a much straighter and attractive nose, otherwise it could not be said that either woman was pleasant looking. And this fact put Beechcroft at ease. Most times she did not feel comfortable in the presence of attractive women; she simply did not trust them; erroneously believing that their beauty, being merely a factor of birth, was a poor substitute for true intellectual attainment, and she despised their loveliness even more because it was something she could never possess. The fact that a woman could be both brilliant and beautiful was a contradiction in terms according to her and an outright impossibility. Thus, many otherwise gifted and attractive women tended to regard her with disingenuousness, and kept their distance. Some of her detractors even went so far as to call her a misanthrope. The designation did not bother her in the slightest.

"So, Dr. Hagstrom," she began, "what have you found out?"

"Ah, you want to know what your little spy has been up to eh?" she said shifting uncomfortably in the chair. "Well, I will put it to you simply...not very much. Not very much at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the genetic codes that are required to create a stable gene sequence are known only to Dr. Swensen and her associate. The rest of the formula is useless without those equations."

Beechcroft paused to consider this information. "But you told me that she created the formula right under your nose. She gave it to that boy and his condition disappeared."

"She made only enough of the drug for one dosage. If she had produced more of it, we could have synthesized it. But even with the samples, there is nothing we can accomplish without the specific coding sequence. It is the key to the entire formula."

A look of bitter disappointment came over Beechcroft's face.

"So where does that leave us?"

Dr. Hagstrom laughed. "Leave us? It leaves us nowhere my dear doctor!"

"I can't believe this!" Beechcroft exclaimed. "You and your staff have been working with her the entire week. You told me Dr. Swensen and you have become friends. Are you telling me that you've learned nothing that could help us synthesize the drug?"

Dr. Hagstrom guffawed. "What do you want me to do eh? You want me to reach inside her head and pull the equations out from her brain? I told you that you are not dealing with a second-rate intellect here okay? She is a brilliant scientist and very shrewd. More shrewd than you!"

"You sound like you're enamored of this woman."

"Of course I am. I find much to admire about her. But that does not mean that I have neglected our pact."

"Listen to me very carefully doctor," Beechcroft began in a sinister tone. "The hearing is tomorrow morning. It is very likely that Dr. Swensen will go to prison for what she has done. Yes, I know she is innocent. But she will be made a scapegoat because she is involved with political powers beyond her ability to control. And with her tucked safely away behind bars, her work will flounder, the Clinic will close, and EJAX-472 will become a distant memory because no one will be allowed to continue her work. Not even her associate. And that is because the Swedish government will ban its further research. Now, if you come with me to America as we planned, and with a working formula, you and I can claim the research for ourselves. We will produce EJAX-472 under another name and market it in America, and then around the world. Dr. Swensen's name will be forgotten. And if it is remembered at all, it will forever be associated with the failure of the drug, while you and I will become champions of a new sexual revolution in the field of male reproductive science. And with this great honor will come fame and riches. Is this not what you want doctor?"

"Yes, of course it is," she replied half-heartedly. "But I do not see how this is possible."

"We must get the genetic codes before she is put away. If you cannot find a way to get this vital information before that time, then we're doomed. I'm sure you don't want that."

Dr. Hagstrom looked around the room almost expecting to see an answer to her dilemma pop out of the surrounding darkness.

"I do not want this. No. But I do not know what else to do. I searched through all her papers and could find not one single trace of the codes you speak of. That is the key to everything. She is not stupid. So what would you have me do now? If you have any ideas, I am listening."

Beechcroft rose up from the sofa and stood by the window, her thin body crouching slightly forward as she peered down onto the street below. In the twilight her profile reminded Dr. Hagstrom of a gargoyle: a silent but foreboding sentinel that would have looked perfectly appropriate perched precariously on top of some ancient edifice as it surveyed the landscape of its vast domain. Her low forehead and small, weasel-like brown eyes hinted of a brutalized intelligence, fed by years of bitterness and hatred for all that was beautiful and unobtainable, and therefore alien to her. The wounds of her disappointment at not realizing her scientific aspirations were etched into the barren landscape of her face, serving as a reminder of all that she had failed to accomplish during the long, tortuous years of her miserable, lackluster existence. Her acutely hooked nose was her most unforgiving feature, reminiscent of a vulture's beak and sinister in its malformation. It gave her whole face a curious avian-like quality, revealing the inherent rapaciousness of a bird of prey, but afflicted with the same cowardly heart as that of a vulture, ready to rend and tear the putrefying carrion of victims it had not the courage to dispatch by its own skill.

The tall woman wondered how it was that she, an otherwise intelligent and intuitive woman, had allowed herself to be swayed by the soft, coaxing words of the conniving creature, whose only aim was to obliterate another person's life and career. Beechcroft had calculated the risks carefully and had made plans accordingly, all in the light of her unerring logic. But there had been a problem. Logic by itself did not motivate; it could only quantify and qualify. It could not disclose the passion lying beneath the desire to wipe out the decades-long efforts spent in humane and beneficial research undertaken by a beautiful and gifted woman, whose very name was a symbol for all Beechcroft had found detestable: the work of a woman whose physical existence was an affront to all those imagined successes she would never achieve. In Beechcroft's case, the motivation toward destruction was fueled by malice and nothing more. But it was a cold hate, something Dr. Hagstrom had never felt toward another human being. And now, as she ruminated on these feelings in the ebbing light of the room, she finally had her answer.

The whole plan to steal another woman's life's work and claim it as your own had always been an untenable idea, in addition to being downright unethical. But this attitude had not concerned her too deeply earlier on in her discussions with Beechcroft. For like the covetous doctor, Dr. Hagstrom, too, had suffered anonymity at the hands of the general scientific community despite some brilliant work in the field of genetics. And Beechcroft's desperate plan held great appeal to a woman who saw her life's work and scientific reputation uncomfortably close to diminishing to the point of a singularity. But having now had the opportunity to work alongside Dr. Swensen, and realizing that her and Beechcroft's fledgling scientific efforts were little more than exercises in mediocrity in comparison to the stellar achievements of their mutual foe, did not induce her to respond with envy or resentment, but rather with kindliness and friendliness toward a woman who treated her as an intellectual and spiritual equal. And finding that she liked and respected the woman because of it inclined her to now view the clandestine enterprise with serious doubt.