The Bullpen Ch. 04

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Erica exclaimed, her right hand seeming to be working overtime, vibrating quickly over her clit. Her left was doing nothing more than gripping her inner thigh, where Hannah had been touching, probing, and injecting just a short while earlier. "Here it comes!"

Hannah wasn't sure why Erica felt the need to announce the impending orgasm, but she was transfixed.

"Here it comes," Erica laughed, slowly easing up on her pussy, preparing herself for the climax that was about to overtake her. The closest analogy that Hannah could think of was that of a fisherman, slowly and carefully wrangling in a large catch. "It's going to be big!"

"Oh yes!" the girl yipped. Her hips rose off the ground. Her back arched. Her leg muscles grew tight. She was up on her tiptoes. "Oh yes, yes, yes!"

She giggled with happiness. And like a victorious sports star, she thrust her unemployed hand, in the shape of a fist, into the air. "I've got it! Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck yesssss!" Hissing her final sound, Erica clenched her eyes shut tight, forgetting about Hannah, the Bullpen, and the world around her. For a brief moment, Erica existed only on this orgasm.

Hannah, on the other hand, took in the scene, and realized suddenly how Dick Abbott could have ejaculated without even touching himself.

***

"It's natural for women to be turned on by other women getting off," Wendy explained over the sound of two girls screaming in orgasmic triumph. "That's the way it is with porn. Men watch the women on-screen, imagining themselves with the actresses. Women watch the women on-screen, imagining themselves AS the actresses."

Erica, staring up at the pornography being displayed by the projector, asked, "So no one's watching the men?"

In front of her, and spread across an entire wall of the Bullpen, were two naked women pulling enormous pink and purple vibrators from their pussies. They had cum together, and it was now on to the next position in "Grand Opening."

"Probably a bit of an overstatement," Wendy replied. She was watching the film unfold, as well, though on one of the ops desk's monitors instead of from the Bullpen floor. Wendy had seen it before, having watched it with her ex-boyfriend Marcus. That was, of course, before Marcus had cheated on the peroxide blonde, and Wendy had vengefully stolen his television, DVD player, and half of his movie collection. She may not have been able to get the lost months of that relationship back, but she at least walked away with a well-stocked entertainment center.

Erica was only vaguely aware of the film's plot, but she hadn't actually concerned herself with the dialogue or porn star Alexa Fox's dubious acting. Instead, she was lost in the scene after scene of hardcore sex – woman alone, man and woman, woman and woman, man and women, men and women. Nearly every combination that Erica could imagine was being played on on-screen. It was as if someone had read every degraded thought that Erica had contemplated over the past two and a half weeks.

It was closing in on midnight that Wednesday evening, and even the most dedicated of science geeks had left ConnPharm for the day. Two girls sat in the company's basement, on different sides of one-way mirror glass, both transfixed by the naked body onscreen. For Wendy, it was like seeing "Grand Opening" through a new set of eyes – cherry eyes – whose entire porn-watching career consisted of only the past fifty minutes.

Erica was seated upon the Bullpen's hard floor with her back slouching against the far wall. Her legs were spread far apart, and her right hand casually drifted up and down against her slit. She was not yet masturbating, per se, but she was decidedly turned on – her lips were puffy, her hand wet, and the entire Bullpen smelling of pussy. She wanted to wait for her orgasm, letting it build as the film progressed.

Actually, the smell of vagina in the air had been a constant over the past few days, and Erica was thankful that only Hannah would ever be allowed inside. It smelled like a whorehouse inside the Bullpen – but perhaps the smell of a whorehouse wasn't all that bad. Every time Erica stepped back through the doors, she was immediately sexually charged once again, if only by the odor of her last orgasm.

Any pretense of self-control had been dropped – around Colin, around Tessa, and especially around Wendy. Erica certainly felt some measure of shame each time she gave into her masturbatory urges, but after just a few days of indulging herself in front of an audience, doing so had become less embarrassing than using the toilet and almost equal to squatting over the shower drain. Every now and then, she stopped to think about what she had been doing the last time she'd called out in orgasmic ecstasy, and couldn't help but blush. But while she was touching herself, she felt a measure of freedom and control that had been absent her first two weeks in the Bullpen.

The act had become downright casual with Wendy. The peroxide blonde's nonchalant acceptance of Erica's masturbation denied the naked girl some of the stimulation that she derived from knowing she was making Colin or Noah or the others aroused, but Erica appreciated the liberty to touch herself without the other party present feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

That night, they'd eaten dinner together at the table in the corner of the Observation Room. Halfway through the meal, the deuterotone-generated pins-and-needles in Erica's tits, throat, and pussy had begun again, and the girl simply put down her fork and knife, got herself off, and continued on with her conversation with Wendy. Wendy didn't miss a bite, showing no hint that Erica's behavior shocked her at all.

The two women on-screen had put away their dildos, and despite having apparently just loudly achieved their respective climaxes, they were taking turns going down on one another.

Erica desperately wanted to be fucked - the scenes earlier in the movie had only driven that particular longing home. A brunette had received an impressive deep-dicking on top of a copy machine. Alexa Fox - one of the blondes currently on screen - had been taken in the supply closet by the mailroom guy. And after that, well, she had been fucked by four men in sequence in the furnace room – tied-up, blindfolded, and gagged, tricked into thinking that she was being penetrated by just one, well-disciplined colleague.

Erica hadn't actually talked to Tom since Sunday, before being confronted by Natalie, before fucking herself in front of Dick Abbott, before confessing her desire to Hannah. Even if she had wanted to come clean (an idea that she'd been flirting with since Monday afternoon, in hopes that he would come to ravage her), Tom hadn't returned her calls. Not that this was unusual – despite the fact that they owned adjoining condos to one another in Avon, they sometimes went days without seeing or talking to each other. Erica got caught up in work, Tom got sent to Cincinnati or Charlotte or Atlanta by his firm.

So much had happened since their last conversation, and to Erica, it seemed as if a lifetime had passed.

She missed him emotionally. But more than that, she missed him physically. She wanted to feel him inside her, and on her, and behind her, and on top of her. She wanted his dick, but truth be told, Erica would have settled for just a little cunnilingus. Tom could come in, keep all his clothes on and most of his dignity in tact, and just eat her out.

Alexa Fox was getting what Erica wanted. It wouldn't matter whether it was a man or a woman, whether it was Tom, Colin, Hannah, or Wendy; despite her imagined conversation with Julie Coogan, cunnilingus was cunnilingus, and the gender and identity mattered so much less than the pleasure she would receive.

The pace of her hand quickened, and though Erica had hoped to last the entire length of "Grand Opening," she knew that her orgasm would be coming hard and fast in the next few minutes. The thought of an unknown person – just a mouth and a tongue – lapping away at her pussy, set Erica's libido in motion.

Despite the monologue going on inside Erica's head, and despite the fact that she was now engaged in rubbing her clit, she never let up from the conversation with Wendy. The banter continued, despite the fact that both girls soon seemed somewhat distracted.

On the far side of the mirror glass, in the Observation Room that overlooked the Bullpen, Wendy Milne couldn't help but feel uncomfortably excited, herself. Though she'd had rough and satisfying sex just that morning with her boyfriend Trey, and though she'd seen "Grand Opening" a dozen times before, her panties were nearly soaked through in arousal.

There was still an hour left of her shift, sixty-something minutes before Tessa showed up at ConnPharm. She was going to have to wait for the girl, drive all the way home three towns over, and then wake up her presumably drunk boyfriend to get herself off – if Trey had even made it all the way home from the bar. Glancing into the Bullpen at the naked girl furiously at work on her pussy, Wendy thought to herself that perhaps Erica had the right idea. Get herself off, and then get on with life.

It was a rarity that anyone came down to the Observation Room after nine. And in two and half weeks of the five-to-one shift, no one had ever come in after midnight – aside from Tessa and Pete Bowie at the start of their one-to-nine shift. As Wendy stood to unbutton her jeans, she thought about the fact that she could remember each and every one of those nights, having not taken a day off since the deuterotone trials had begun.

Oh well, she shrugged as she wriggled out of her pants - she needed the money. Paying her rent, car loan, and credit card bill was going to be tough that month, and she wasn't even going to be paid until the first of the month.

Clad in a tight-fitting green turtleneck sweater, a pair of low-rise gray cotton briefs, and a pair of boots wildly inappropriate for the workplace, Wendy settled herself back down into the ops desk chair. She spread her legs, propping her knee-length boots up on the desk itself, and began to rub her pussy through her panties with her left hand while her right dug into her purse. Eventually, she found what she was looking for - pulling a small, red and white pocket rocket from the pouch.

The blonde flipped it on, and a light humming began. The volume was soft enough that the buzz was mostly lost beneath Wendy and Erica's conversation, if not beneath the sound of the two squealing porn stars on screen. Her left hand pulled the crotch of her panties aside, exposing her completely hairless snatch and a small, silver hoop running through her clit.

She loved the feel of the vibration against the metal.

Wendy had been fantasizing about this for days. Erica was locked away, but plainly visible and completely naked, getting herself off on the floor of the Bullpen. Wendy, meanwhile, had on most of her clothes, but still did her best to match the intensity of the dark-haired girl through the looking glass.

As she had explained to Erica just minutes earlier, she fantasized about being the woman on-screen, the woman in the pornographic adventure, the woman that was in the throes of ecstasy while others watched. In the weeks since Erica had been locked away, the technician had dreamed about interchanging places. She concocted various scenarios in which she were the one the Bullpen.

An outbreak of a very rare and very infectious disease, perhaps. Wendy was naked inside the Bullpen – because, of course, her clothes would have had to have been burned. While the CDC and other infectious disease people scratched their chins and fretted about what further exposure could do to the people of Connecticut, Wendy was busy diddling herself with a mischievous smile upon her face.

Or had she had embezzled money from ConnPharm? Bill Forrester, rather than having gone to the police, had opted instead to let her earn the money back. She was locked away, away from her clothes and boyfriend and friends, behind the glass, and forced to cum for her freedom. Twenty-five cents per orgasm, while Colin, Tessa, Pete Bowie, and a peroxide-blonde version of Erica Rivers watched.

Or maybe, at the last minute, Erica and Noah had discovered that someone else at ConnPharm was approved for Category F research – one Wendy Milne. She had, of course, volunteered herself when no other option was available, as she believed in the promise of deuterotone and in her company. Each week, she was injected full of chemicals that caused her breasts to grow and sent her libido off the scale. She masturbated not because she wanted to, but because she was compelled to, forced by an inner desire she couldn't control. With her back propped up against the Bullpen's wall, her bare ass in contact with the cold Bullpen floor, and pornography splayed across the far side of the room, Wendy rubbed her clit while peroxide-blonde Erica gasped for air at her climax in the Observation Room.

Wendy hoped that Erica hadn't noticed her shortness of breath. She had reached her orgasm in just under two minutes, the vibrator against her clit ring doing most of the work.

But the naked girl, the one who had actually spent the past two and half weeks inside the Bullpen, was lost in her own vaginal pleasures, pursued in the old-fashioned, manual way. She was too distracted by the bucking of her own hips, by the nearness of her orgasm, to pay much attention to Wendy's breathing patterns. The conversation continued, but it was clear that her mind was elsewhere.

"She hasn't taken off her heels," Erica panted, her hand moving more and more rapidly against her crotch, as she remarked on the scene taking place in front of her. "Neither of them has."

"I can buy you a vibrator," Wendy announced through the comm, seemingly out of nowhere. "Or a dildo, if you want."

Erica closed her eyes tight, and gritted her teeth. She paid no notice to the fact that Wendy's offer had nothing to do with their conversation, only stream-of-conscious remarking, "At this point, I need more than a vibrator. I'd pay good money to be eaten out."

She had, of course, been half-joking. There was little doubt she'd take Wendy up on a vibrator, or a toy, or anything else that she could stick in her pussy and quench some of the emptiness she felt. But though she'd been craving lips upon her lips, a tongue probing into her, and a mouth upon her clitoris, Erica hadn't been serious when she'd offered to pay for it.

"Two hundred fifty dollars." Wendy, however, had jumped at the financial opportunity in front of her. She had a car loan that was past due, in the amount of one hundred ninety-two dollars.

Erica assumed that Wendy was joking. Nonetheless, the minute that the offer had been made, the faceless mouth that had been eating her out in her fantasy suddenly belonged to the blonde. And it was enough to send one final surge up Erica's spine.

"Oh my god!" she cursed, continuing, "This is fucking….going to be a…fucking good…fucking….fuck!" She had fallen in love with the sound of her own voice, and as the dirtier her vocabulary had become, the more turned on she became. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite able to muster up much more than that, as she bit her lower lip hard and let loose a loud, guttural moan. It was deep, and intense, and for a second, Erica thought she was going to pass out due to the ferocity of her orgasm.

"Two twenty-five," Wendy announced, lowering her rates in the hope that Erica would, indeed, pay her car loan. She felt a pang of guilt in charging the girl for cunnilingus - if she were more sympathetic, she would get Erica off for free. But Erica had offered money, and though the blonde did suspect that it was nothing but an absentminded fantasy spoken aloud, she hoped that Erica might be desperate enough to jump at the proposal.

Erica slouched down to the floor, rolling onto her side. She kept her hand, now at rest, on top of her soaked pussy, her legs still spread wide. Was Wendy trying to haggle with her?

"Two hundred," Wendy continued. "But that's it. That's as low as I go. I'm not a lesbian, after all." She had, however, experimented more than once over the years.

Erica desperately wished she could have accepted the offer. She wanted the blonde to bite her nipples. She wanted to feel Wendy's tongue run from the inside of her knee, up the inside of her thigh, to the waiting folds inside her pussy. She wanted to pull her dyed hair, smothering the technician in the smell of her slit.

"Tom," was all she offered in response.

Wendy understood. There was a line, up to which Erica was allowed to pursue her science, even if it met stripping down in front of her colleagues, radically altering her own body, and fingering herself in front of three grown men. Admittedly, the line had grown a bit fuzzy, but one thing was clear – another person involved definitely constituted "cheating."

Erica and Tom had, at least until three weeks ago, a relationship built on trust. Erica couldn't cheat on Tom, be it with a man or a woman. He meant too much to her. Already, she felt so much guilt about the things that she had done, the things that she was doing, that her heart ached every time she thought about him.

But everything she had done, up that point, had been justifiable. She had stripped down for her experiment. She had masturbated to clear her head. She had continued masturbating because of the deuterotone. She had gotten herself off for Dick Abbott to keep him from shutting her down.

If she were to pay Wendy to eat her out, it would be nothing but hedonism. And Erica wasn't sure that she'd ever be right with Tom again.

At the ops desk, Wendy was still sitting in her panties, which were still pulled aside and her pussy still exposed. Absentmindedly, she teased her clit ring, again lost in her own head. She supposed that she should put her jeans back on. She supposed that she should say something to Erica, to clear up the awkwardness of near-prostitution.

Instead, Wendy imagined herself seated at that very chair, buck-naked, with Erica's head in her lap. Though she hadn't seen Erica in clothes for more than a few weeks, she imagined the scientist in low-rise gray cotton briefs, with knee-high black boots, and nothing else. Wendy pulled the girl's face closer, luxuriating the sensation of a woman's tongue flicking her clit-ring, and stared down at her naked, sweaty back. Stuffed casually down the back of the panties, half in and half out, was a wad of twenty-dollar bills. Two hundred dollars.

***

Though Wendy had left just after midnight on Thursday morning with her bank account in no better shape, she had been thoughtful enough to leave behind something for Erica. On the center of the table in the Observation Room, for all to see, was a small, red and white vibrator.

Tessa had stared at it uncomfortably all night. Because Erica had insisted on sleeping a little late that Thursday morning, it was still out when Colin arrived. And, most significantly, it was still on the table when technician Marty Coombs laid Erica's breakfast alongside it.

The dark-haired girl, bound in her corset when she stepped out to eat and exercise that morning, had blushed at the sight of the small toy. From her face, to her chest, to her buttocks, Erica's whole body turned red out of embarrassment. She wasn't so embarrassed, however, that she didn't immediately put it to good use.

It wasn't new. It wasn't even clean. Clearly, this toy had belonged to, and had been used by, Wendy. Fairly recently at that, Erica judged by the slight stickiness that coated one end.

Still, she was only halfway through her routine on the exercise bike when she dismounted. Erica couldn't remember the last time that her pussy had actually been dry, the last time that she hadn't been at least marginally aroused, but the bicycle seat was completely drenched when she b-lined for the table. She had been thinking about what it would feel like against her clit since having first laid eyes upon it, and just the slight hum it gave off when she turned it on nearly had her cumming.