Lyra's New GigbyLyraSmith©
I have to write about this, about what happened to me. I need to tell someone, but I'm afraid of what my friends or family would say if they found out. It happened a couple of weeks ago, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.
To begin with, I'm a freshman in college and barely scraping by on student loans and part-time work at a coffee shop. My parents don't have money to lend, so I make do with what I can get by on. I learned quickly that I could make some extra cash here and there by taking part in marketing research studies for companies and occasionally for taking part in university research programs. I've given my thoughts on smells and advertising fliers and language lessons to strange people armed with clipboards and laptops like I was some kind of opinion whore. What do I care? As long as the checks are good and they keep me in ramen noodles and caffeine for the week, I'm good.
As with most whores, I imagine, I came to have "regulars." One was Mark. He worked for a consulting firm hired by different companies, and once or twice, by hospitals. Mark's job was to find warm, opinionated bodies that fit the target demographic. He was one of the few people I knew by name. We saw each other so much that he would just text me his available times and opportunities. He was kind of handsome in a bookish way: glasses, dark tussled hair, slender build.
Anyway, I was in my Thursday morning chem class when I got a cryptic text from him that read: Have a job for you. Different. Tonight at 7. Free?
I was immediately intrigued. Was he asking me on a date? I confess I'd kind of hoped he was. I texted back: "k."
I couldn't concentrate at all during lab time. He hadn't said we were meeting anywhere special. I assumed it would be at the same place. What kind of date started in a business park? I tried to push all thoughts out of my head until I was done with classes for the day, which was at 3pm. It's still cold here, so as I wrapped up in scarf and jacket, backpack heavy with books and my dad's hand-me-down laptop, I noticed the campus was devoid of the usual small clusters of students on sitting on benches and lounging under the maples and sycamores. I walked as fast as I could, wanting to get home to shower and change before my roommate got back from her weekly improvisation group. It was on that walk that I made the decision to treat it like a date to justify putting on some makeup and taking time from studying for a research paper due the following Monday to do some necessary landscape maintenance, which I'd kind of neglected since my bikini found its way to the bottom of my drawer for lack of use.
So I showed up at the four-story interest group research office five minutes early, wearing my black boots, a charcoal grey pencil skirt, and my favorite blue sweater that brings out my eyes. I also styled my hair down instead of tying it back in its usual hair clip. I was pleased with my own reflection on the black glass doors of the office lobby as I approached.
Usually, there is a plump lady with a penchant for animal prints who greets me from the reception desk when I arrive, but that night her chair sat empty. The rows of teal chairs usually occupied by the other opinion whores engaged in form filing were also vacant. The building smelled of new office furniture as always, but there was another faint aroma, like sage and lavender. Half the lights had been shut off, leaving much of the waiting area in shadow.
I'd begun to think I'd gotten something wrong, when I heard the door to the inner offices and testing rooms open.
"Hello, Lyra." Mark's rich voice saying my name was like silk to my ear. He reached out to shake my hand.
"Hi," I said, enjoying the feel of his warm skin wrapped around my cold hand.
He was dressed more casually than I was accustomed to seeing him, in dark jeans, black leather shoes, and a pullover, which was pushed up at the sleeves to reveal olive skin stretched taut over the sinew of his wrists and forearms.
His dark eyes pulled me in as ever they had the power to do. I was lost in them. He flashed his knee-wobbling smile exposing two perfect rows of teeth bracketed by the merest dimples on each five-o'clock-shadowed cheek. I tried not to ogle his thin but beautifully shaped lips for fear my thoughts would quickly descend to blush-making territory.
"So a night time gig..." I tried to sound casual. "Are you taking surveys for the undead now?"
He gave a small laugh. "Vampires? No, but this is certainly a unique client." I noticed then that he wasn't armed with his usual tablet. Was this his idea of a date? He turned and led me through the door into the office after swiping a card over the side panel to grant us access.
As I followed him down the familiar corridor lined by cubes and windowed offices, I tried to limit how much I stared at the hypnotic movement of his ass and surreptitiously adjusted my bra to give the girls more prominence.
We arrived in a test room I'd never been in before, and my heart sank when I saw a small mountain of papers stacked on the desk next to a wire basket full of pens. This was seriously a gig? I mean, I could always use the money, but I was in even greater need of getting laid, a prospect that diminished the second he sat down and offered me the seat across the table from him and the odious stack of consent forms and questionnaires.
With a sigh, I pulled up the proffered chair and reached for one of the pens.
He stopped me with his hand.
Confused, I looked up at him and asked, "What?"
He looked at me intensely for a moment before dropping his gaze to the hardwood table. "I just want to make sure you want to do this one first." He shrugged. "It's different."
I felt my brow furrow. "How much does it pay?"
He let go of my hand and gave a small smirk. "More than the usual travel brochure gig, that's for sure. Fifteen hundred for tonight. Another grand if you come back in a few weeks for a follow up."
"Fifteen hundred!?!" I gasped. That'd almost cover my non-rooming bills until next semester. I might even be able to splurge on a new laptop. "What do I have to do? Donate an ovary?" I scoffed.
"Well, it's for a doctor, but he will not be removing any organs, I assure you," he said with a smile.
"What's it for?"
"He's researching a new device for home, uh, entertainment. He'll be conducting the survey himself." Mark gave a small frown. "He selected you himself from our files."
"Yeah. Like I said, you don't have to go through with it. I'll still keep you on my list." Back to smiles.
"What do I have to do?"
"There are more consent forms than usual, and a nurse will give you a small exam and they'll administer a mild sedative. Our client will provide for safe transport home for you and your vehicle after the test."
My curiosity at this gig was almost as aroused as my libido sitting so near Mark in this darkened room.
"Sure," I said. "Let's get started." I might finally have a laptop that didn't sound like a small rocket ship preparing for launch on startup.
Mark's reaction was a confusing mix of fear and excitement at my decision. He sat with me as I waded through forms and signed enough consent agreements to make my fingers cramp up. Now and then, I caught the scent of his minty breath, and it made a warm feeling settle into my middle. I wanted to feel his warm body crushed up against mine.
The nurse came in later. She was a young, pretty Asian girl. She took my temperature and blood pressure, drew blood, listened to my heart, and asked me to disrobe into a blue paper gown.
"I should probably go get your paperwork sorted," Mark said, excusing himself from the room in a bit of a blush.
I took off my clothes, folding them neatly in a pile on top of my boots and put on the robe as asked. The thought of fifteen hundred dollars was my shield from embarrassment as she watched me undress.
The nurse withdrew a large plastic bag and loaded all of my belongings, including my purse and boots into it. She ripped a surgical sheet from a sterile pouch and proceeded to drape it over the table.
"You lie down now," she commanded in a tone that brooked no nonsense.
I complied, but my mind reeled at the thought of such a thorough exam where Mark and I sat chatting and filling out forms only moments before.
She lubed up a gloved finger and rather forcefully jammed it into my cunt. I felt tears sting my eyes at the abruptness. But it was nothing compared to the reaction I had when she slid a second finger into my anus. My pelvis jumped reflexively, but she forced me down with her other hand, which she used to poke and prod at my abdomen. She handed me a wet-wipe.
"It looks good," she announced, rolling off her gloves and tucking them into a small yellow bag, which she held out for me to deposit my wipe. "I recommend to the doctor you can continue."
And as abruptly as she'd conducted her exam, the nurse gathered her things and left.
I sat up on the paper sheet covered table and pulled close the unfastened opening of the blue hospital gown around me.
I felt a little shell-shocked. What had just happened? Was that the gig? Could I pick up my check now? I tremulously inched off the table, setting a bare foot onto the grey nylon carpet. I wanted to get dressed.
Sudden panic overwhelmed me. She'd taken my bag of clothes! Just as I was about to try wrapping the sheet around me for extra coverage to chase after her, the door to the small room opened, and a tall older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a serious expression stepped in.
"Miss Smith?" he asked, extending a hand.
I shook it and nodded, pulling the robe further closed.
He smiled, but it wasn't a warm smile. His eyes remained serious, calculating. "I'm Dr. Bansa. I'll be conducting the survey today. Will you please follow me?"
Without waiting for my reply, he turned and walked out of the room and down the corridor toward an elevator at the back.
Peering around the office to confirm that it was in fact empty, I tiptoed after him, feeling full force the vulnerability of being clad only in a thin sheet of paper.
"After you," he said, holding a hand out to keep the elevator doors open.
I stepped in as instructed and watched him enter and press the button for the third floor. He neither spoke to nor looked at me during the elevator ride. He led me out to another office space that looked similar to the one we'd just left, winding a dizzying pattern between row after row of modern deco cubicles and the glass-doors of offices. This area, like the downstairs, was only half-lit. The worker bees had all gone home for the night.
At last, he stopped before a dark mahogany door and used a key card swiped in front of a magnetic panel to open it. The room inside was well-lit and resembled a small doctor's office, complete with an exam table and various standard medical equipment attached to walls and sitting atop counters.
He gestured to the table. "Have a seat and remove your robe, please." His voice was no-nonsense as he opened one of the cabinet's drawers and removed a sterile package containing a syringe.
Fifteen hundred dollars. Fifteen hundred dollars. I mentally repeated the mantra to give me courage while I did as instructed.
Dr. Bansa took a small bottle from one of the cupboards and filled the syringe with its contents, his actions the smooth, methodical motions of a man practiced at such things. When he turned to look at me, I noticed a crack in his professional veneer. He pulled up short and gave a small intake of breath, his gaze instantly fastened onto my full round tits with their always erect pink nipples. I noticed his neck flush red briefly before he quickly regained composure.
"This is a mild sedative," he said as he placed it on the paper-lined tray beside the exam table. He still did not meet my eyes. "It will only last a few hours." He swabbed my arm near the shoulder with alcohol, the smell mixing with the still present faint lavender and sage scent. "But we will have someone see you home safely."
He placed one gloved hand on my shoulder, his eyes casting furtive glances at my tits and flat stomach, and where my stomach met my lap. Thank goodness I'd taken the time to do a proper job of shaving before I came!
"This will help relax you during the test," Dr. Bansa said as he stuck me with the needle. For a short moment, he met my eyes, and a jolt of fear and excitement rippled through me, sending my heart to flutters. Heat emanated from the point of injection. It was an intense burn at first but then morphed into a tingly warm feeling as it spread through my limb and across my back.
I smiled and gave a small sigh. He wasn't kidding about the relaxing thing. It was as if the heat from the injection chased away all fear and inhibition in its path. I suddenly didn't mind at all that I was stark naked in front of this strange man who was about to do some unknown test on me. In fact, the warmth in the room made me glad I was unfettered.
He looked me in the eye again. "Feel better?" he asked, his smile reaching his eyes this time, giving his face a welcoming appeal.
I nodded. "Uh-huh." I suddenly felt like singing, so I did sing a few lines from the song I'd been listening to in my car on the way over.
He pulled that little eye-checker light thing from the wall and looked my eyes over one at a time. He took my wrist in his hand and looked at his watch, then wrote something down on the form lying on the countertop. When he turned back around, he had his stethoscope in his ears and warmed up the end by rubbing it on a sleeve before placing it gently over my left breast. He moved to just below my breast, and I noticed him gently brush my nipple as he went. It responded by perking up a little more at his touch.
A low groan escaped my throat.
"Then let us proceed to the other room," he said in a whisper. I saw his hand move to make an adjustment under his white lab coat.
He then opened a door that led in the direction opposite the way we entered. Feeling bold and suddenly horny, I followed him, careless of my nakedness.
My fear had gone, but I admit I pulled up short when I entered the room. It was not what I had expected at all.
The room was much larger than even the lobby. Two rows of tables were set up at the back of the room where over a dozen men and women in white lab coats sat pecking away at laptops and scribbling on notepads. But for their age and white coats, it looked like a mini version of one of my classes. Standing behind those seated was a pinch-faced woman in a ball-buster suit and Mark. The former whispered intensely to the latter, who gave me a small wave when I entered.
Under normal circumstances, I would have withered on the spot, mortified beyond repair. But tonight, while a part of me knew that I should logically be ashamed, I was unable to feel said emotion. Instead I just placed my hands on my naked hips and shot him a quick wink.
He smiled in return from the dimly lit side where he and the others stood or sat on chairs in the carpeted section of room. The fore of the room in which I stood was the same bright lighting and cold white tile of the doctor's office. Three waist-high stations loaded with gadgets and monitors were arrayed around a large pale blue sheeted exam table with several metal arm attachments folded onto it. A strange looking apparatus was mounted to the ceiling, and six black globes hung from thin metal poles in a circle around the table. Each of the globes held a camera which fed to one of six large screens hung along the back wall. I turned to the screens and watched the doctor and I enter the test center. My ass looked pretty good from that angle, I noticed, aware of but unfazed by my audience.
"To the exam table, if you please, Miss Smith," Dr. Bansa said and pointed toward the exam table.
I did as instructed, noticing the stirrups on this table were much more heavy-duty than what I was used to, but the relaxant doing its job rendered this thought little more than an observation completely devoid of concern or trepidation.
I sat on the edge, letting my feet dangle as I surveyed my audience. A few of them looked at me. Some seem practiced at maintaining the proper emotionless decorum of a professional engaged in clinical research, but here and there—three of the men, one of the women—I caught some of them either smiling with eager anticipation or roving my body with a look that spoke more of ardor than benign scientific interest. Mark's face was a mask. The woman in the business suite and tight brunette bun continued to whisper in his ear, the hissing sound blending with the chorus of typing from those with laptops.
Dr. Bansa flicked several switches, and a low hum of machinery coupled with a slight vibration of something in the exam table going live joined the hushed din. He stepped forward, just to my right, and addressed the audience as he paced slowly in front of me.
"Our subject tonight has gone through the proscribed initial screening and treatment. We will begin with prompt and response signal setting, followed by preliminary stimulus and prep setting. After that, we will engage with the stages as outlined in the guide, progressing to level seven--" He stopped and turned to look at me, shooting me a quick conspiratorial smile before continuing. "Provided she can handle it, which I think she can."
"Will she—"a balding man with glasses began to ask.
Dr. Bansa cut him off with a wave of his hand. "This will be a clean test. Save all questions until the end."
The room fell silent in obedience. He turned back to face me, pressing buttons on a small console attached to the side of the exam table. My table, I came to think of it as.
"Lie back now, please, Miss Smith," he said gently but without emotion.
I did as asked. Great padded arm rests folded up perpendicular to the table at his command, and the super stirrups swiveled out. He deftly strapped the appropriate limb in each. It was then I realized my cunt was aimed squarely at the observers. I didn't mind. In fact, part of me wanted their eyes on me there, to see if I could force more of them to squirm under the weight of professional propriety. I know I have a pretty pussy. I wanted others to know, too. I wanted Mark to know.
Dr. Bansa stood next to me, manning the table's consol. His expression was back to being serious as he worked.
The stirrups spread, exposing me further to the watchful eyes. The edge of the table supporting my ass retracted, not enough to leaving me hanging, but enough to free more area around my lower pelvis. The apparatus descended from the ceiling, giving me a better view of its many parts and components. Though it was large, its movement was barely audible. Several thin arms, each with a different end attachment reached out to hover just above me.
"I'll attach the monitors to allow us to measure her levels prior to initiating the stimulus response testing," Dr. Bansa said. His words were aimed over my head. I had this sudden rush of feeling like a disconnected observer witnessing what was about to happen. I only wished I could see past my own tits to watch the observers watching me.
As if in answer to my wish, the table began to tilt slightly forward, allowing me a limited view of those at the back of the room.
Dr. Bansa stepped around the console and began applying small white circular patches to my forehead, stomach, and chest. He refrained this time from grazing my nipple, and it ached at the absence of his caress. A slow, steady longing began to build within me. I needed release. I wanted Mark to step up to my table, whip out his cock and stuff it into my exposed hole, grinding away until we both reached that exquisite moment of bliss.
I could see him watching me, tongue occasionally darting across his lower lip. I wanted that warm, wet mouth to suck on my cunt. I could feel my clitoris begin to swell and my juices begin to run.