Soma Ch. 02

She gasped for air, yelping and squealing out of bodily rapture in utter disregard for her current location. Had she been conscious of anything but the ecstasy emanating from her loins at that moment, she might have worried about someone finding her here, an hour from now, still howling and cumming in the embrace of some phantom paramour. But Lauren wasn't capable of forming such thoughts. She wasn't worried about how she looked or how she looked, unlike most of her admittedly infrequent sexual encounters. She was lost, entirely, to carnal pleasure.

The second orgasm came fast, and the third came just behind it. Lauren was still propping herself up on her hands and knees on the bathroom floor, but she'd placed her forehead against the cool, wet tile as an added leg of support. Her whole body had become one, all-encompassing erogenous zone. Her nipples were on fire. Her skin crackled with venereal electricity. Her lips and tongue and teeth begged something to kiss, to lick, to bite. Even her ass, to this point in Lauren's life virgin territory, seemed to be alive.

Somewhere between her third and fourth orgasm, Lauren's vision went black. She'd shut her eyes, squeezing them closed tight through yips and screams. But what little consciousness she'd been able to muster in order to ride out the furor gripping her body was soon lost, and Lauren was out.

How much time had she lost?

Lauren awoke for the second time that morning in a rather unnerving position. She was still on her knees, her ass pointed up in the air. Her hands and arms, however, had completely given out beneath her, and it was only her face against the tile -- her right cheek, to be exact -- that had kept her propped up in her hunched-over position. Her left nipple was poking through the grating of the drain under her, her whole left breast blocking the drain itself and causing a pool to build up around it. She rolled over to one side, not yet capable of doing pulling herself to her feet. Never had she experienced anything remotely like what she'd just been through. Had she cum four times or five?

Her whole body was nothing but pins and needles, and her pussy ached as if she'd just been on the receiving end of ten men. She was physically exhausted right down to the core of her being, and it took everything she had left in her to keep from going back to sleep on the tile floor. Her breathing was still irregular, and she couldn't help but emit a squeaky, girlish sigh as she exhaled.

Given her prunish-looking pink fingertips and the size of the puddle initiated by her breast-turned-drain plug, Lauren estimated that she'd been out a good fifteen to twenty minutes. She'd been lucky she hadn't drowned, considering the posture she'd found herself in. She rubbed the side of her face, and could feel the tile-shaped ridges in her cheek.

At least there'd been no one around, Lauren told herself. Had she cum like that in the middle of Bramley's office the day before, there would have been no hiding it. But, she told herself, she had best be on her way that morning, because she wasn't going to be alone for too much longer.

Lauren didn't let herself reflect on what had just transpired. Weakly, she brought herself to her knees, and then upright on wobbly legs. She ran a handful of shampoo through her hair, rinsed, a handful of conditioner, rinsed, and was on her way. Sopping wet, she stepped into the hallway, her shower items tucked under one forearm. In the darkened corridor, she found her yellow towel, and quickly patted herself dry. The first night's lesson fresh in her memory, Lauren resisted the urge to wrap the towel around herself as she left the pitter-patter of the men's bathroom behind her.

Back in the relative safety of her own office, Lauren groaned at herself when she was greeted by the naked imagine of a supine Jurgita Valts on her desktop. She clicked out of Explorer, and then ran the termination command for the sprinklers. She dried her hair. She applied make-up. She slipped back into her jewelry. She booted up her digitally annotated copy of the acquisition contract. And, only then, as she stopped, took a breath, and began to think about her day, did the incident in the men's bathroom catch up with her.

Panicked, Lauren reached for her phone, and for the business card tucked safely in her first drawer. Adams wouldn't be in, of course -- it was still only a half past six in the morning. But Lauren needed to talk to someone, even if that someone was a recorded greeting from the psychiatrist and a familiar "beep."

"What the fuck?!!" Lauren squealed. "What the fuck is happening to me? I just passed out."

Pause.

"I just passed out because of the single most intense orgasm I've ever had."

Another pause.

"Well, okay, no, it was a couple of them, rapid-fire. Four. Five, maybe? One after another. Oh, God, Dave....this can't keep happening! I know, I know, I know...I should be going home. I know that's what you're going to say, that I shouldn't be here. But I've got to conquer this thing, right? I've got to face it? But, Jesus...

"I can't cum like that again. Especially if it's during the day. I can't. I just can't. The nudity, well, the nudity's humiliating. It really is. Anyone who ever had any respect for me, well...well, no longer. But, oh god, I can't cum like that in front of anyone. I just can't. That's my career. Forget about Associate General Counsel. I'd be lucky to stay where I am now."

She whimpered, her voice breaking.

"I can't walk away now, Dave. I'm so, so close. And, I mean, look at what I've gone through already. Even if I still have two more days... Well, I guess it's really only one more night. But you've got to help me, you've got to help me get this under control. I don't know why this is happening to me. I don't know why my body's reacting this way to the stress. I don't know what's wrong with me, deep-seated or otherwise. I don't know if, deep down, I'm some sort of exhibitionist slut, some sort of masochist, or something. I promise, I promise, I swear, I promise, I'll work it out with you after Friday. I'll come right to your office on Saturday morning. You just have to help me get through this..."

***

In many ways, the beginning of the day was less excruciating than the previous. While still exciting and titillating, Lauren's situation was old news -- everyone in the office had seen her the previous day. They knew about her condition, they weren't shocked by her state of dress, they didn't need to check in on her or whisper about what was going on. But in the back of Lauren's mind, as she greeted Ginger, Dmitri, Rachel, and Bramley, as well, there was the ever-present concern that she'd launch into a series of gasps and moans, cumming as she wished someone a "good morning."

And so, when Julie Lambourne appeared in Lauren's doorway with a large, brown cardboard box, Lauren was less than enthused. But the paralegal's tone attracted Rachel from next door, Ginger from around the corner, and even Jessica Braeburn, who was on her way to grab another cup of coffee from the kitchen. If Lauren were to launch into orgasm once more, it would be in front of a growing audience.

"Unsexy thoughts," Lauren told herself. "Get your mind off of this morning, get it off orgasms, get it off nudity, get it off anything sexual."

"What the hell....?" Julie asked aloud, pulled a mesh, see-through, raspberry-pink thong from the cardboard box.

Lauren just groaned.

"What is this?" Jessica asked. She peaked over Julie's shoulder, and reaching into the box, pulled a white satin slip from inside.

"Oh my god," Julie stammered.

"This is the box?" Ginger asked. "The stuff your guy friend was sending you?"

"No!" the paralegal yelped. "I mean, yes, but no. Not what I had asked for. Not what I wanted."

"Did you look in the box? Before you brought it in?" Rachel asked.

"No," the blonde girl shook her head. "No, not until I brought it in here."

Lauren stood, and began to poke through the box herself. Bras, panties, slips, chemises, garter belts, a corset. All Eve Intimates, all from the previous spring's collection. Digging deeper, Lauren found a handful of tank-tops, a few miniskirts and summer dresses, and five or six flirty little cocktail dresses. But the few items of legitimate clothing near the bottom didn't change the fact that three quarters of the box was full of lingerie.

"Guy friend?" Ginger asked the paralegal, stressing the second word.

"Well, that's what I thought," Julie replied. Her face was a deep shade of red, and Lauren could tell that Julie now wished she'd taken a peek in the box before opening it in front of the other women.

"Oh, cute," Jessica mewed, pulling a pistachio green lace camisole and a matching set of boy short panties from the box.

"I mean, maybe not," Julie continued. "Maybe this is his way, weird as it might be, of wanting something more..."

"Well, there ARE a few dresses in here," Rachel offered. "That's what we were looking for, right? For Lauren, for Friday night?"

"Right," Lauren nodded, pulling a low-cut, red strapless party dress, which she'd initially mistaken as lingerie, from inside, and holding it up over her naked body. She wanted to try it on, but she knew just where that particular exercise would lead. "Right. This other stuff is...just...just extra."

"It looks like it's leftover stuff from the Spring catalog," Rachel offered. "Just extra stuff he had lying around...?"

Ginger pulled a purple split-crotch teddy from inside the box. "So, you going to try it on for him?"

"No, no, no," Julie stammered nervously. "No. No, this is Lauren's box, not mine."

Lauren shook her head. "No, I certainly don't need this much underwear. Especially in my current state..."

"I'll take this," Jessica offered, holding up the green cami and panties set.

"Fine," Lauren nodded. "Take as much as you want."

"Leave it here for now," Ginger instructed the intern. "We don't need to go parading underwear around the halls this morning, not with, ahem, everything else going on."

"Should I give it back?" Julie was asking Rachel. "It's kind of disgusting, right? Kind of an inappropriate gift?"

The redhead shrugged. "It's what he's got access to down there. And even if it is a bit, well, lewd, it's still good stuff. This," she said, picking up a black and red garter belt, "this goes for like twenty-five bucks in the catalog."

"Well, it's Lauren's box," Julie repeated. "I asked for it for her. It's really hers to decide what to do with..."

Lauren reached for the box top, and once each of the items had been replaced, she closed it up and pushed it under her desk. "Fine, then. You all can go through it later this afternoon -- take what you want. But we really need to get going today."

"You forgot something," Rachel offered as the rest of the girls slipped from Lauren's office. She twirled a white lace and black satin garter on her index finger, something that looked like it belonged to a French maid's costume.

"Thanks," Lauren huffed, snatching it from her friend. She tossed it carelessly towards her desk, pushed the redhead out the door, and sighed with relief. She'd managed to make it through those five minutes, at least, without spontaneously bursting into orgasm.

Adams called in as soon as he'd gotten Lauren's message, and insisted he'd be over as soon as he could. He had one patient that morning, and an errand to run for Lauren that he thought might help, but he'd be in soon enough.

For most of the morning, though, Lauren lost herself in her work. She shared a few, quick emails with Dick Bramley and Paul McIntosh, and gave marching orders to a handful of her team members, but the blonde was primarily focused on the contract itself. She read and re-read each line of each paragraph, initialing the pages as she progressed. There was a note, here or there, in reference to punctuation or more careful wording, but for the most part, much of the contract looked to be in fairly decent shape. Gone were thoughts of posing naked, of orgasming the men's room, of Lauren's continued lack of clothing, replaced in totality by legal clauses and sub-clauses.

Lauren heard none of the men on the floor complain about the unusual amount of water splashed across the men's bathroom. But then, she'd spent most of the morning with her door closed and her head down. Still, Ginger confirmed that no one she'd heard had said a thing, especially given that more and more of the male members of the staff were going to the twenty-fifth floor even just to pee. Apparently, no one liked standing sole-deep in puddles in the rest room.

And so, when Lauren took a break from her work that morning to relieve herself, it was with a certain amount of confidence that she did so in the men's room, relatively comfortable with the fact that her chances of being caught were slim. She splish-splashed across the tile floor, into the handicapped stall, and shut the partition door behind her. She squatted over the drain and pissed, telling herself that no matter how vulgar this might be, it beat having to walk all the way to the other side of the elevator bank, past the Auditing office, and down the long hall to use the women's room. Lauren was in and out before anyone could catch her, though she did leave -- unbeknownst to her - a fairly distinctive high-heeled, wet footprint in the blue carpeting behind her.

"Hello?"

Lauren looked up from her work to see Dave Adams at her office door, letting himself in without too much fanfare. Lauren grimaced. A part of her was relieved to have him there, as over the phone he had sounded like he had another idea. But another part of her had found a relative peace in her work, blocking out anything and everything to do with her nudity and the incident that morning.

"Hi," the blonde replied. "Come in. Sit down."

Adams had his leather messenger bag with him, as he had had the day before. He also had a nondescript brown paper bag tucked under one arm, and he bore a rather uncomfortable smile on his face.

"Thanks," he replied, sitting himself across from her. They'd talked about that morning over the phone, as they'd spoken about the incident in Bramley's office the afternoon before. There wasn't any need to go over it again, and so Adams launched right into it. "Okay, so, I have an idea."

"Okay...?"

"Wait," he said, placing the paper bag on the floor and reaching for a pen out of his briefcase. "Do you have a sheet of paper?"

Lauren ripped a page from her legal pad and slid it across the desk.

"I...will...not...sue," Adams spoke aloud, as he wrote.

"No, that's fine," Lauren interrupted him. "The one from yesterday, it's fine."

"This is for you," the psychiatrist explained, rotating the sheet and indicating that Lauren should sign by the X that Adams had drawn.

A bit unnerved, but ultimately undeterred, Lauren did as she was instructed. Was Adams going to get naked, too? Gay or not, the blonde had to admit that he had an incredible body, and she wouldn't mind taking a peek beneath the shirt and tie.

She swallowed hard, nipping the thought in the bud as soon as it entered her head. Even if Adams was there to try to help her get to the root of the problem, the girl was uneager to burst into throes of ecstasy in his presence.

"Do one thing for me first," he instructed. "Just do me a favor, and try the panties again." Lauren had repeatedly slipped in and out of her gray, cotton underwear during the previous day's session, and again after cumming in Bramley's office. It was a test, to see if her rash returned.

Lauren reached for her duffel bag, beneath her desk, but found Julie Lambourne's cardboard box first. Without really thinking about it, and with a hint of mischief somewhere inside her, Lauren slid the box from its position and slipped off the cover. Rustling around until she'd laid her hands on a pair of deep red nylon/spandex hiphuggers, Lauren extracted the underwear and placed it on the desk.

"Leftovers," Lauren smirked. "A gift."

"I'm sure," Adams smirked back. "Came with the garter over there, I'm assuming?"

The black and white garter dangled precariously on one of Lauren's computer speakers.

Lauren nodded.

"Try that first," the psychiatrist ordered, jutting his chin in the direction of the garter.

Lauren nodded again, and reached for the garter. She crossed her legs, her right over her left, and slipped the black ribbon and white lace over her ankle, up her calf, and past her knee. She adjusted it around her thigh, stood, and took a step towards the far wall, testing to make sure it stayed up. Like Adams's belt or her own shoes and jewelry, though, the garter seemed to have no effect -- it hadn't set off whatever alarms Lauren's body had put into place.

Of course, it was at that very moment that Dmitri stopped in front of Lauren's office. He looked ready to knock, in order to ask some question, but after peering in at the naked blonde (or naked, save the black and white French maid's garter), he thought better of it, backed away, and disappeared down the hall.

Lauren blushed all over, but turned her attention back to the psychiatrist.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Lauren affirmed.

"And the panties?"

The blonde picked up the lace-trimmed panties, and still standing, bent at the waist to slip them on. As they had the evening before, and the afternoon before that, they stung as they went up Lauren's calves and thighs, as if they were sewn entirely out of thistles and thorns. But, snapping them into place around her waist, Lauren recalled the events of the hospital on Tuesday night, remembering how she'd wanted to cut the waistband in order to get them off more quickly, how they'd seared her flesh. Today, more than a day and a half later, wearing them still caused quite a bit of discomfort and pain, but the hurt was nowhere near as agonizing. Whereas she had felt like she would die if she didn't get them off back in the hospital, her present state of suffering was more comparable to scratching a bad sunburn. As she slid the panties off, Lauren noticed that the rash had returned. By her estimation, though, it didn't look as vicious or as pink.

She relayed the sensations and observations to Adams, who seemed to share her general diagnosis.

"Which brings me to this," Adams announced, placing the brown paper bag on the desk in front of Lauren. "Whatever the disease, I think we may have inadvertently stumbled upon a treatment."

Lauren looked at the psychiatrist, and then reached into the bag. Packaged in firm, see-through plastic, the blonde found a seven-inch phallus. It was long, slim, and shaped more like an elongated bullet to some fantastical gun than it was like an actual penis. There was a small knob at the bottom; speed-control, Lauren guessed. The entire shaft, which looked like it was made from some sort of high-grade plastic, had been done up in a tiger-stripe motif. And, deep in the paper bag, there was a pair of Duracell AA batteries.

"What is this?" Lauren asked in disbelief.

Adams glanced at the girl, smiled, and offered, "You're more repressed than I thought."

"No, no, no," the girl replied, shaking her head. "No, you're supposed to help me stop with the orgasms."

"I can't, Lauren. Your body's doing everything in its power to relax you. We could try acupuncture, or a mud bath, or a day at the spa, but my guess was that you wouldn't be amenable to any of those things if you had to leave work. And, though less desirable on your part, your body found away to relieve some tension without you."

"So...this...is...?"

"We can't stop what's happening to you. But we - well, you - can control it. Exert a little more structure over what's happening."