The Bullpen Ch. 03byWonderstorm©
Erica Rivers moaned to herself, whispering something nearly inaudible.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." She was panting now, letting her body succumb to the motions of her palm against her clitoris.
"Wait, what did she say right there?" Aaron Abrahams asked.
"'Fuck, fuck, fuck'?" Vijay Patel answered, somewhat baffled as to how Aaron could have missed Erica's repeated expletive.
"No," Aaron sighed. "Before."
The twenty-two-year-old leaned forward over his colleague's shoulder, punched a few buttons, and watched as his boss's writhing image rewound on the monitor.
"Right here," he announced, releasing the button. The digital recording, captured the evening before in the Bullpen, began moving forward once again. And Erica, dripping wet and shaking with lust, began touching herself once again.
Aaron increased the volume.
"Yes," Erica breathed, "in my ass. Put it in my ass."
"Jesus." Vijay's jaw dropped.
"I knew I heard something," the other research assistant smiled to himself as the naked girl's vulgar profanity repeated itself in the background.
Vijay shook his head. "I've watched this six times this morning. I hadn't caught that."
"So, does she do it?" Aaron asked the Indian man, careful not to take his eyes off the monitor, off his boss finger-fucking herself into oblivion. "I mean, what she's asking for."
"No, no." Vijay sounded disappointed. "But we now know what she was fantasizing about."
On screen, Erica was dropping to the floor, calling out to God in absolute carnal pleasure.
She lay on the floor of the shower smiling, seemingly oblivious to anything but the aftermath of her own orgasm. It was as if she had forgotten where she was. It was as if she had forgotten that Wendy Milne was watching her from the far side of the Bullpen's mirror glass. It was as if she had forgotten that her every move was being recorded by the TW emitters. It was as if she had forgotten that every minute of her captivity was available for playback on any of her research assistants' computers back in the lab.
Little did Aaron or Vijay realize that it was precisely that line of thinking that had Erica smiling. She was a dirty girl. A naughty girl. And those thoughts only turned her on that much more.
"You haven't seen anything yet," Vijay announced as he leaned forward over his computer.
Flipping the fast-forward button, the two research assistants watched as Erica's chest heaved rapidly beneath the falling water. She stood. The water went off. She dried herself. And, in ultra-fast motion, their naked boss went through the rest of her evening.
As the clock on the recording flew from hour to hour to hour, Vijay looked up at Aaron. "If anything, it got even hotter last night."
At least, that's what Erica had told herself beneath the shower.
That evening, hours after she'd reached her orgasm, and hours before Vijay and Aaron called up the incident on Vijay's computer, Erica began crying in the corner of the Bullpen. Everything hit her at once. Her captivity. Her nudity. Her depravity.
The girl had been lost in the moment beneath the shower, and touching herself to wash had quickly become touching herself to touch herself. She had been hopped-up on her own artificial hormones, only partially aware of the consequences of her actions. At that moment in time, she had done what had felt right, what had turned her on, what would finally provide her with the release she'd been craving all week.
Had Wendy seen Erica toying with her nipples? Had Wendy watched as she repeatedly thrust her middle finger into her cunt? Had Wendy heard her grunt and scream in genital ecstasy?
At the time, the thought of someone else's eyes on Erica's body had only excited Erica more. Now, she was mortified at the display.
Wendy had, of course, seen the entire thing. It was the technician's job to watch Erica's vital signs and signal strength from five in the afternoon to one in the morning. The guinea pig knew that her observer had observed.
But Wendy had suggested that Erica get herself off, that Erica "pet her kitty." Wendy had assured her that people already knew of her arousal, and that the others would understand if the girl masturbated. The peroxide blonde had pushed her and pushed her, incapable of understanding that just talking about the subject made Erica uncomfortable. They had fought over it, and Erica had assured her minder that she, Dr. Erica Danielle Rivers, had self-control.
But that self-control had failed her, and Wendy's line of thinking had won out. Erica would masturbate just once. People would understand. Just once, to clear her head, and then move on.
The technician hadn't said anything since Erica's shower, and Erica desperately hoped it would remain that way. She didn't need to be reminded of her actions. She didn't need to have Wendy gloat about being right. She didn't need to talk about what she had done.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, the act had cleared Erica's head. Beforehand, she had longed to think about anything aside from her own lust. But now, in the self-possessed hours after her climax, Erica yearned for the hormonal daze that had preceded.
Wendy Milne had watched her masturbate. Wendy Milne, with her dyed hair, her nose piercing, her ear piercings, and her excessive makeup. Wendy Milne, with whom Erica had been somewhat uncomfortable being around during the primate stages of her deuterotone experiments. Wendy Milne, who thought nothing of discussing her own sex life with complete strangers, and therefore would probably think nothing of discussing Erica's with fellow colleagues.
And Wendy was only the beginning. Tomorrow morning, Noah Forsythe would call up Erica's data and notice a spike. Increase in breathing rate. Increase in blood pressure. Increase in heart rate. Dilation of her pupils. And then, after a period of muscle tensing and vaginal contractions, her breathing rate would decrease. Her blood pressure and heart rate would decrease. Erica herself had seen the changes in Trixie's charts. Noah would know what she had done with once glance at the chart.
The lab assistants, all of whom were her junior in age and experience. They all had access to the Bullpen footage. They could all call up her little show for them in the lab, or in their own private offices. Behind closed doors, Vijay Patel could potentially masturbate as he watched Erica on screen.
Hannah, her friend. Natalie, her mentor. Bill Forrester, her boss.
Erica couldn't believe what she had done. As if stripping naked in front of everyone in her life wasn't quite degrading enough, she had managed to take her humiliation to another level. She wouldn't be able to look at any of them for months.
Just once. She had wanted her release just once.
And Erica had certainly gotten what she had so badly needed. Never in her life had she ever achieved an orgasm like the one beneath the shower. Half lost in the fantasy of fucking both her boyfriend and her friend, but fully aware of potential audience back in the real world, Erica had reached an apex like none other.
Even now, as the shame took hold and the realities set in, Erica couldn't deny the warmth that had enveloped her body, and continued to radiate out from the center of her body. So powerful was the final orgasm that the dark-haired girl felt as if it had happened minutes, and now hours before.
Erica wiped the tears from her eyes. Wendy had watched her before, and was watching her now. Honestly, the scientist felt as if she would have preferred the technician watch her diddle herself than watch her cry.
It had only been once. Erica had masturbated, and now Erica could move on.
Or so she thought.
Erica had tried to go sleep at ten, eager to put the day's events behind her. But falling asleep, never easy on the hard tiles of the Bullpen's floor, was impossible that Saturday night. In the five hours since the incident, Erica hadn't been able to think about anything but the shower. And, as five hours turned into six, and then seven, the girl became more and more frustrated at not being able to fall asleep.
The self-loathing hadn't gone away, but it had been joined by a return of the girl's libido. If anything, feeding her hunger that afternoon had only made the beast stronger, and the symptoms of Erica's lust soon returned. Her nipples were as hard as diamonds. Her clit was fully erect, and throbbing torturously. And her pussy was so moist that Erica could actually feel her own juices trickle down the inside of her leg as she lay on the floor.
The fog of her excitement was the only thing that hadn't accompanied this onset of arousal. She was as excited, yes – if anything, perhaps more so. But Erica wasn't as drunk on sexual frustration as she had been beneath the shower. She was fully aware of her surroundings, and painfully aware of her own body. Wendy was on the far side of the glass. Others had access to video recordings. And while the act of masturbating twice in a single day would be degrading, the thought of doing so only turned Erica on that much more.
For hours, as she lay on the floor tossing and turning, she had told herself that once had been enough. People might understand once. Erica, did, after all, need a release. Going five weeks without any sort of sexual activity would have been irritating under normal circumstances, but doing so while one's body chemistry was raging with adolescent hormones seemed cruel.
They'd understand once. But twice? In a single evening?
It would certainly raise some eyebrows.
Was it Erica? Was it psychological? Was she getting off on having people see her naked? Was she getting off on having people watch her play with herself? Was she an exhibitionist?
She could use the deuterotone as an excuse, but the reality was that the compound should have only affected her as much as a normal testosterone treatment. An average woman undergoing hormone therapy reported more sexual activity and more sexual arousal, but never to the degree that Erica was feeling. And men walked around each and every day with more testosterone in their systems than Erica had deuterotone in hers. She hardly felt as if the average male, locked away in the Bullpen, would feel compelled to whack off as much as she hunger to touch her pussy.
The science couldn't fully explain Erica's libido, which left her questioning the psychology. After all, hadn't there been a part of her that had been turned on the first time she'd stripped naked in front of Noah, Colin, and Natalie? Hadn't her nipples been hard when Colin had given her that haircut on the very first day? Which had come first, the arousal or the deuterotone injection?
Was Erica a slut?
No, she told herself. If she really was an exhibitionist – and she wasn't quite ready to make that diagnosis just yet – then it was a condition, like claustrophobia or depression. She was simply ill-suited for her role in this experiment, given a part of her nature she hadn't been aware of.
But she wasn't a slut - even if the thought of being one sent delicious shivers up and down her spine. Even if the allure of casting off her old labels - of being a nerd, of being a good girl, of being a prude - tempted her. She, after all, had self-control.
Or, at least, she used to have self-control.
Frustrated, Erica ran her hands through her short black hair. In the hours since her shower, it had gotten sweaty and matted once again, as she had tossed and turned on the floor. The lights of the Bullpen had been dimmed to allow her to sleep, but there was still enough illumination for her to see her reflection in the mirror glass beside her. The look of desperation that she had seen earlier that afternoon had gone away, but there was a mischievous twinkle that had replaced it.
They had, after all, already seen her masturbate once. It would have been shocking to some at first, but people were going to be shocked, or disgusted, or aroused by her first act of carnality. The second would be old news.
It was the same as being naked in front of her coworkers, Erica told herself. Sure, it had been awkward with Colin at first. But it had gotten better, easier, for her to be around him, and for him to be around her. He'd seen her naked that first Monday. What was the big deal about him seeing her naked on Tuesday? Or on the following Tuesday, for that matter? Been there, done that.
"Wendy?" Erica asked aloud, catching herself by surprise. Was she really going to go through with this? Again?
"Yes?" the blonde girl asked. The two hadn't spoken more than a few words to each other all day, all of which had been entirely utilitarian. Shut off the water. Turn off the television. Dim the lights.
"How much longer until Tessa gets in?"
"Ten minutes or so," Wendy answered. "She runs late sometimes, though, so it might not be for a while."
"Good," Erica responded. And then, without thinking, she blurted out, "I'm going to get myself off again real quick."
There was a pause, but it didn't keep Erica from following up on her announcement. Her hand found her pussy quickly, and the touch caused Erica's back to arch.
"Good," Wendy finally replied, not quite sure how to answer Erica's announcement, or her writhing on the floor of the Bullpen.
All Erica could summon in response was a loud purr.
But Wendy, who had been quiet all day, finally saw her opportunity to speak. Erica had already embarrassed herself once in front of the girl, and she had no interest in doing so in front of Tessa. Wendy seemed to understand this, and knew that Erica felt, perhaps, a comfort with the open-minded technician that she didn't quite have with either Tessa or Colin. Wendy's role, on her five to one shift was, in fact, this – Erica's outlet.
"Do you want any music?" Wendy asked awkwardly. "Or porn?"
"No," Erica panted, embarrassed. But not so much that she stopped what she was doing. Her middle and ring fingers had already found the top of her slit, and she was working her clit with absolute abandon. This was going to be quick and dirty, not long and sensual like that afternoon; Erica was going to get herself off, put it behind her, and go to sleep.
Despite Erica's response to the negative, however, Wendy had turned music on – a dark, menacing sort of techno that Erica couldn't quite place. Though she was somewhat annoyed with the fact that Wendy had ignored her request, Erica had to admit that the beats themselves were soothing. And, if nothing else, the music might drown out any inadvertent cursing – or grunting – that came out of Erica's mouth. Soon, her pace had slowed to the beat of the song, and the lyrics began, her hips were gyrating rhythmically.
"That's good," Erica muttered aloud, though it was unclear whether she was talking about the song, or her own more intimate artistry.
"Bright Eyes," Wendy answered, guessing that the dark-haired girl was commenting on the former.
Erica moaned audibly. She was going to cum even more quickly than that afternoon. And hearing Wendy's voice only made the experience more visceral.
She wasn't at home.
She wasn't alone.
There was someone watching this.
This was being recorded.
This session, between Erica and her pussy, had been meant as nothing more than a sleep aid. It was for her and her alone, so that she could fall asleep. But after the thought of Wendy watching had entered her mind, after the prospect of her lab assistants watching this tape tomorrow had come with it, suddenly Erica's orgasm wasn't the primary motivation.
She was the focus of attention. The girl in the spotlight. The scene which no one could take their eyes off of.
A source of disgust. A source of lust.
She ground her clit against her fingers.
Erica Rivers, who had been nothing but a tall, awkward science geek in high school. Erica Rivers, who had been an afterthought even at Cal Tech, second fiddle to the Julie Coogans, Sirikit Sivaraksas, and Jenny Brodies. Erica Rivers, who at twenty-nine, was still awkward in normal social situations and uncomfortable when being hit on.
Her hips bucked, thrusting into the air.
Erica Rivers was a bad girl. A naughty girl. A free girl.
And, as Erica mulled over this new identity - this new Erica Rivers - she reached her climax.
"Fuuuuck," she exhaled, letting her hips drop back to ground.
Concern over dignity or shame would come tomorrow, after a night's sleep. Erica was far too content in that moment to wonder about the next day.
"This isn't like Erica," Noah argued. "This isn't her personality."
"These aren't normal circumstances," Natalie pushed back. "It isn't like we're running Early Analysis at Erica's house, where Erica would get privacy behind closed doors. Or where Erica would get to wear clothes. Or where Erica doesn't have strangers watch her go to the bathroom."
"So what exactly is it that you're saying?" Noah was visibly annoyed. "That Erica behaves this way at home? When no one's around?"
"Seriously? That's your argument?" the man shouted.
"How do you know what Erica is like at home, Noah?" the blonde countered.
Noah didn't have an answer.
In fact, none of them did. Seven in all, a pow-wow had gathered around the conference table in the Human Hormone Lab that Monday morning. Jake Rinaldi, Noah, Natalie, Hannah, and the three lab assistants had all come together to address a growing concern – Erica's seemingly insuppressible sexual urges.
Rinaldi had called the meeting, but only under duress. Medical Oversight, the wing of ConnPharm that was overseeing safety issues related to the deuterotone experiment, had become troubled by the level of sexual activity Erica had been engaging in – even if it was only with herself. There had been a threshold of arousal and excitement they had all been anticipating, Erica included. And they had all been aware of how uncomfortable it had made their friend, colleague, and boss in the Bullpen, how it had affected her sleep pattern, her concentration, and her interaction with others.
Natalie, for one, had been somewhat relieved when she'd heard that Erica had taken the problem into her own hands. Others, like Noah and the people within Medical Oversight, began to worry about how the deuterotone was affecting their guinea pig.
The science was working, no doubt. Erica's breasts had increased in size, quite significantly. In the first few days, the computers had noticed, but the change hadn't been quite noticeable to the naked eye. That had changed, however, and a quick glance in Erica's direction was all one needed to confirm that she was undergoing a second puberty.
But masturbating that first time had worried Noah. And then had come the second time. The third time. The fourth.
After getting herself off twice on Wendy's watch on Saturday, Erica had proceeded to finger herself on Sunday morning before Colin came in. And twice after he'd left that night. And twice more on Monday morning before nine o'clock had even rolled around. All told, Erica had masturbated on seven separate occasions in less than forty-eight hours.
Images of the exposed girl still hung in all of their minds. Erica, touching herself beneath the shower. Erica, touching herself and grinding rhythmically against her hand. Erica, touching herself in front of the mirror glass, watching herself orgasm. Erica, touching herself while on all fours. Erica, touching herself with a sense of hurry, trying to get off one last time before Colin arrived for his shift.
Natalie's point, however, had been to note that they didn't know whether this frequency of masturbation was ordinary for Erica.
"Has anyone talked to her about this?" Jake asked. "I mean, about her behavior?"