tagMatureScience (un)Fair

Science (un)Fair



The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!

This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.

* * * * * * * * * *

[If you're trying to read these stories in their intended chronological order, this one occurs after Dots and Dashes of Color 9.]

What happens when Mr. Marcus performs his annual duty as Science Fair judge? There's bound to be some experimentation . . .

* * * * * * * * * *

Every year for the past twenty or so, I've volunteered one day to the local City-Wide High School Science Fair. As a technologist, I enjoy seeing the innovations the students come up with. As an eternal letch, I enjoy checking out the young ladies, dressed up to make a good impression with the judges.

Like every year, the judges have to check in and get their assignments - which projects they'll review. As an added benefit, sometimes the administrative assistants are good-looking women. Not young and barely legal like the high school seniors in high school. These are women in their twenties or maybe thirties who've gotten the low reward but necessary job of distributing and gathering the voting materials - clipboard, student papers, scoring sheet and the all important No. 2 pencil. And, at the end of the event, they pass out small tokens of the school district's esteem - a paperweight or clock/thermometer, maybe a vinyl bag with SCIENCE FAIR slapped on the side not quite straight.

I walked past the row of assistants, examining each face. An attractive young woman stood behind the BIOLOGY sign. We exchanged smiles. I wouldn't have been averse to discussing personal biology topics with her, but the judging would start soon. I had student papers to read, and oh yes, donuts to consume before hitting the project floor.

My stack of student papers was thicker than most. I had five projects this year, in both MATH and COMPUTER SCIENCE. I swore if I got another Fibonacci Numbers or Rubik's Cube Solver project, I'd punch my fist through the student's cardboard display. Fortunately, my five projects were much more creative, and advanced enough to strain my memory of calculus and software algorithms. I was actually pumped at reviewing these projects, but not distracted enough to ignore every young female I passed, making occasional eye contact when the chest or legs or face was pretty enough for more than a split second of undivided attention.

When I got to the MATH section, one of the projects was a no show. They get no score, and took zero minutes of my time. In the COMPUTER SCIENCE section, two projects weren't there. So, I was done much quicker than any of the other judges. I rechecked my scores and turned everything back to one of the assistants, a pimpled young man.

The young female assistant behind the BIOLOGY sign flagged me down. "Excuse me. Are you finished?"

Looking at her pretty face? Never. I straightened my tie and moseyed over. "I had three no shows. Just my luck. Their papers were quite good." I walked closer.

"Could you do me a big favor?" Her hands held out a single student paper, her arms squeezing her breasts together, making cleavage out of two modest molehills. "I had a no show judge, and this project requires one more review. Could you?"

I've performed more than my fair share of biological events, all of them involving young women. "Sure. Why not?"

Her voice was thick. "You're a sweetheart." One hand swept her hair behind an ear.

Would I get some kind of personal reward for my efforts? Best to do the judging and get back as soon as possible. "No problem."

I sat in the front row of the auditorium, munching another donut and looking up at Miss Biology more frequently than necessary. The student's paper reported the creation of artificial pheromones, the chemicals that cause attraction between males and females. Her experiments were documented with pictures, charts and graphs. One photo showed a microscope picture of two simple critters, too small to be seen with the naked eye. The next one was jam-packed full of the little buggers. This proved accelerated reproduction, but not pheromones. I readied a series of precise questions to expose this fraud.

I made my way through the aisles of projects, fantasizing about the Biology assistant. Maybe she'd have lunch with me. A spurt of white foam came across my path. I jumped to the side as a paper mache volcano threw up a combination of vinegar and baking soda.

"Sorry, sir." The junior high punk came at me with a handful of paper towels, but I waved him off.

In the next row of projects, a plain looking young lady slouched at her cardboard display. She was extremely skinny, no meat on the bones at all. Her hair was flat and greasy, with one strand draped across her forehead. She smiled. Crooked teeth to match. I turned my attention to the tri-fold display, adorned with the charts and photos from her paper. She hadn't even bothered with a backing, to make the project presentable. More lost points.

"Hello. My name is Harvey Marcus, and I'm one of your judges. Tell me about your project." Only fair to allow her to convince me that her work was legit.

She stuck out a bony hand. "Lillian Mutzman."

Her grip was loose and her hand was clammy. I wiped my palm off on my pants leg.

She recited her pitch from memory in a nasal tone. It sounded memorized, with no emotion for her work. She looked at her shoes, never at me. No eye contact, another deduction. This girl was going down in flames. Then I noticed the single capped vial in a wooden box on the table.

"Is this it?" I asked.

I had interrupted her high-pitched monaural whine. "Yes." She pointed to one of her microscope photos. "Now, this is a magnified picture of -"

"What? No tests with gerbils? Or bunnies?" As in, fucked like rabbits?

She finally looked up at me as if I'd cursed. "I haven't tried the formula on any mammals. Not even insects." Her expression of confusion, or perhaps anger, showed she wasn't used to being interrupted.

"You haven't taken even a little sniff? What does it smell like?" A reasonable question, I thought, under the circumstances.

"All of my testing was performed in sealed and sterile environments. Like I said, its not ready for human testing, just microbes and simple creatures."

Sterile? Not ready for humans? Sounded like a self-description. I folded my arms across my chest, a traditional skeptics pose. "Your paper is flawed, or inconclusive at best," I said.

Her eyes flashed daggers. Maybe there was some fire in the belly of this young woman after all. "But I established control groups, used documented procedures, made careful measurements –"

She was citing all the standard judging criteria. Perhaps she'd designed this project strictly according to judging guidelines, to garner a perfect score. Like a teacher teaching for the test. "Yes, yes," I said. "But you haven't answered the simplest of concerns – cause and effect. How do you know that your so-called synthetic pheromones caused the rapid reproduction?"

Her face was red, making her masked pimples stand out. "Because every other variable was held constant, that's why!"

"A plausible answer, but unconvincing. Right now, without more substantial proof, you're getting my lowest score of the day."

Her hands flew to her head. I was surprised they didn't slip off. "You don't understand. The only way I can afford college is a Science Fair scholarship. I have to place first!"

"All I'm asking is a provable argument, or–" I snatched the bottle from the wooden box. "–a whiff."

She reached for the bottle, but I held it behind my back. She wouldn't have the courage or dexterity to snatch it back.

"When my project goes to the Nationals, they'll want to see a sample, and that's all I have left."

"Well, if your experiments are repeatable, you can always make more."

"None of the other judges asked to smell it, so why do you have to?" Her hands were fists at her side.

"Well, maybe they haven't been judging for decades, or maybe they aren't as professional as I am." No way was some puny scammer going to get the best of me.

She raised a hand to her chin, like a skinny standing thinker statue. "If you read my paper, you know I haven't done any testing on mammals. Who knows what could happen? There could be serious side effects. Maybe the pheromones are fatal to humans."

For all I knew, the bottle held plain air, and the results were faked. I brought the bottle back to the front.

"Just a whiff." I dangled the bottle from its airtight cap.

"Please don't." Her hand shot out and grabbed the glass portion of the vial. I still had the cap securely between my fingers. She pulled, but I tighten my grip. The cap snapped off, and the vial jumped towards her. She inhaled sharply, leaned forward to grab the cap from my hand and pushed the cap back on.

The young lady began to cough uncontrollably. My eyes teared up, my vision got fuzzy, and there was a steady pounding in my temples. She was still coughing, harder now. I needed to throw water on my face, to clear my vision, and she needed a drink of water. With all of the electronics in the project area, there was no handy source, so we stumbled towards the bathrooms.

She practically fell into the women's bathroom, coughing even worse. I entered the men's room and splashed water on my eyes. It was ineffective treatment. The tearing stopped, but the blur didn't improve.

I shuffled out of the men's room and waited outside the woman's. "Are you okay?" I called. Silence "I said, is everything all right?"

"Come in, I need you."

The voice was deep, almost husky. I took two tentative steps and peeked around the corner. A woman with shapely legs was leaning over the sink basin. A short skirt hugged her round ass. She turned, hair cascading in curls around her face.

I rubbed my eyes. Where was the mousy student? Who cared? This woman had full red lips, wide, bright eyes, and breasts straining against her white blouse. I couldn't help but stare.

She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. With each drag up, her skirt lifted. The skirt was merely three inches below her waist. I wanted her do it one more time, so I could see her panties, assuming she was wearing some. I hoped not.

Her hands released the fabric. They glided to her crotch, both of them. She cupped her mound, squeezing through the material. She bent and moaned. She was in sexual agony. Desperate. I felt her pain. I wanted to put my hands where hers were.

I didn't know this young woman, but I wanted to. No, I needed to know her, Biblically. To prevent my heart from stopping. I needed her. My feet brought me closer.

She cleared her throat. "It's about time," she said. Her voice was gravel. Every inch of exposed skin was marble.

It was mutual. She wanted me, too. I was going to fuck her, as soon as I could get my pants down. Her hands were at my buckle a second after she pulled me closer by my tie. One hand undid my buckle while the other pulled my face to hers. Our tongues sizzled as they parried, her mouth, then mine. My dick felt like a baseball bat. I reached up the outsides of her thighs and snagged her panties. They felt like silk against my fat fingers. I tore them free and let them drop. There was fucking to do.

Her hand brought my inflated prick to the edge of her cunt. The lips were thick and throbbing with a pulse of their own. She was dripping. I unbuttoned her blouse and flipped the bra over her breasts, soft and full. I stepped closer and she dragged the head of my dick up and down her pussy slit. Then she began to cough. Her breasts bounced.

She turned around, to face the sink and flipped her skirt up. Her pussy was available. I spread her thighs and positioned myself between her legs. The head of my dick strained against the opening. It was like fucking a knothole. I expected easier penetration, she was so wet and so willing. I lurched forward as she coughed, and sunk an inch. She continued to cough. I reached around. My hands swelled to contain her large breasts. I pushed in rhythm with her coughing. Her cunt relented under the pressure and continued assault. I needed to fuck this woman. I thrust, over and over, driving the full length. Her coughs turned into cries of "Oh, God!"

Her hands came behind her, as she explored the stub of penis that hadn't been in her yet. I crouched and lunged, giving her the full length, trapping her hands between our bodies. Her fingers, tickling my groin, were irrelevant. Control was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was our two bodies, slamming into each other, satisfying a mutual primal urge. The urge to fuck. To mate. To reach mutual satisfaction. We would have that shared peak, whatever it took.

The penetration came easier. She was looser, but still tight. The friction was ecstasy. I humped and pumped and rammed and thrust. It was time. I felt her cunt contract, skin rippling against my persistent prick. It was time for her to reach orgasm, and for me to spray my cum deep into her pussy.

"Oh, oh, oh!" she shouted.

Her hands had wandered along my sides, and to my ass, distracting me. She hugged me closer every time I pulled back. She wanted it, as much as I could give.

I looked at her image in the mirror over her shoulder. My vision was clearing. I gasped, more from what I saw than the sexual excitement of our pounding loins. It was Lillian Mutzman, my hands covering her non-existent breasts with only her nipples showing through my fingers. Her face was flushed, her stringy hair damp, her eyes bloodshot.

I pulled back, but her hands held my ass, and her diddling fingers played havoc with the area between my thighs. I couldn't hold back. My thigh muscles tightened. I spurted, once, twice, three times. I'd never come so hard, in all of my fucking life.

I backed up, extracting my dick. Our mingled juices dripped down her thin thighs.

She turned. Her voice was a murmur. "What happened?"

It must have been some kind of trick. Hypnosis? Making me think she was some gorgeous woman. "You came onto me. Tell me, how did you make me think you were attractive and sexy, hmm? That's worth a perfect score as a project."

Her hands held her cheeks. "The pheromones! Oh, my God! They work on people!" Her smile drooped. "Shit! We had sex! Do you think I'm going to get pregnant? How could you? My first time, and I'm raped!"

"Listen, this was consensual. You started it." Given the way she'd bucked and ground against me, it was hard to believe she hadn't been willing, even eager.

"I need to douche, right away."

"What?" I was ignorant about such things.

"Find an acid liquid. Some lemon juice or vinegar."

I knew precisely where I could find the latter. The project aisles were empty. All of the students and visitors had adjourned temporarily to the auditorium to hear speeches by dignitaries, riding on the coattails of the bright students. Next to the pretend volcano was a partial bottle of vinegar.

I brought the bottle back, along with a baking soda tablet. "Here you go."

Lillian topped off the bottle with water. "Now, how am I going to apply this?"

"Sit upon the sink and I'll help you," I said.

"The hell you will." Lillian held her skirt down, as if fighting a subway ventilation shaft blast.

"Listen, I've already been there, you know. Seeing it is no big deal."

She scooted up on the sink.

"Good. Now spread your legs."

Slowly, she lifted her skirt and let her knees splay to the sides.

"Great." I pulled the baking soda tablet from my pocket and placed it between her thin cunt lips.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Watch." I placed the watered-down vinegar bottle at her pussy and tilted it up.

"Wow wee!" Lillian wiggled, trying to escape the chemical reaction.

Foam spurted from her cunt as I held the bottle in position against the expanding force. The front of my suit got drenched by the excess.

"What the hell did you do?"

"The expanding foam got all the way up, if that's what you wanted."

Lillian giggled. "Yeah, but we're both soaked. And there are white flecks all over you."

She was right. My suit needed serious cleaning. "I can't unfuck you, but maybe there's something I can do as compensation."

"Like what?" she asked. "Child support?" She pulled her skirt down.

"Better." Smart ass. "I'm in tight with a product company that will pay handsomely for your invention. Hundreds of thousands of dollars."


If Zenellis liked FastSuture glue for medical, they'd die for Instant Sex Aerosol. "Yes. I'll make the introductions. But you must go in prepared, with a good lawyer, to protect you. Don't get lowballed." Funny to use that phrase after what just happened. I'd call ahead, so Saroya knew I was the sponsor, and that I expected a share of the excessive profits.

I left Lilly to clean up before returning to her project. I filled out the grading form and turned it back to the attractive Biology assistant.

"You look terrible," she said. "Was her project that hard?"

I'd been hard enough for her, that's for sure. I didn't try to explain. "Sometimes, things don't work out the way you expect. But a scientist learns from successes and failures." I left that for her to decipher, as homework, without asking for her phone number.

Despite our physical liaison, I gave Lilly a score of 95 points. Her posters had been ugly. After all, I had to maintain my judge's integrity.


An Original H M Tale

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Copyright (c) 2006, HarveyMarcus. All Rights Reserved.

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