Taking Flight (2 page)

“To hell with the world.” She sighed and cuddled into him, trying very hard to ignore the nagging feeling that she really ought to get up and finish what she’d started—with a warm, dry pair of pants on. “What about you?” she asked, snaking her fingers down to his crotch, but he stopped her.

“No,” he said gently. “Go on, get back to work.” He pushed her off the sofa, into a standing position this time, and picked up his paper.

Now she felt guilty on every conceivable level. The least she could do was to pay him some attention. But he smiled and shooed her off. Reluctantly, she left him to his paper and went through to the bedroom to change.

Once she was warm and dry, Deborah took up vigil at her desk and stared at the reams of text and calculations. For four generations the unknown toxins had been plundering the world of men and the population was teetering on the brink of extinction. The few pregnancies that made it to delivery were always female, apart from extremely rare cases. Deborah had been secretly pleased when Marcus had taken the test.

“It means you won’t be taken away, Marcus,” she’d comforted him when it came back negative, slighting his virility.

Any males who could produce viable sperm were taken to the manors, where their seed was collected for insemination in one of the birthers. As part of her research she’d been taken to one of the institutions where hallways of men were housed in what Deborah could only think of as cells. Luxurious though they were, they were still prisons, and the men inside knew it. She didn’t want that for her lover. Sometimes he joked that she was a prisoner in her own mind, the amount of time she spent inside it, trapped in her research.

Seeing nothing but spiraling nonsense before her, Deborah decided it was quitting time. She packed away her papers into her briefcase, ready to take it to the lab in the morning. As she leaned back in her chair and stretched, her underwear caught in her crotch and she fell into the memory of just a couple of hours before. She reached down to her dampening panties and pressed her fingertips into the moist space between her lips. Marcus.

Yawning, she stretched again, sliding her chair out from under the desk and watched her toes flex and point on the ends of her toned legs. She was a small woman—some said tiny, which irritated her no end. She’d always wanted to be tall and mighty—Amazonian was the term used for such women. Her mother had been Amazonian, but didn’t all mothers appear that way to their children? She’d died when Deborah was still too young to see her objectively.

To compensate for her slight frame, Deborah kept herself strong, eating the right kinds of foods and doing daily flexibility and weight training. “You never know when you might need to run, Debbie-pie,” her mother used to say, and it scared her but kept her fit, using it as her mantra as she trained.

Her muscles glided beneath her smooth skin, which was developing a visible sheen of desire the more she thought about her orgasm. She craned her neck and looked over to the sofa where she knew Marcus would be fast asleep. He always insisted that he’d stay awake to wait for her, but he never did.

She quietly shut off her table lamp and went over to him. His chest rose and fell and a gentle pulse quivered at his neck. Reaching into his open shirt, she laid her palm over his heart. His flesh was so warm and sensual that she began to explore it further, raking his chest gently with her nails and slowly winding her way down to his jeans. Her fingers slid easily under his waistband and down to the sleeping fleshy bundle. Leaning in, she kissed him lightly on the lips, inhaling his scent all the way from his neck to where her hands were now undoing his zipper.

He stirred slightly and Deborah paused, holding still until he sighed and fell back into a deep sleep. Easing the jeans open, she nuzzled down into him, into that familiar musky place where she felt so at home. Kneeling before him, she bowed her head and closed her eyes, just for a second…

Chapter 2

“Doctor Regan, the next time you’re late, you will leave me no option but to put you on report.” The lab manager struggled to look authoritarian, and Deborah felt bad for putting her in that situation once again.

“I know. I’m sorry, Doctor Grange. I was working through the night on my theory.” She ran her fingers through her uncombed hair, catching them in the tangles. A vision of her hairbrush lying on the bedside table formed in her mind’s eye. Damn it, she’d been tearing about searching for her lab keys, her shoes, everything. Only now, without the panic, could she visually remember where everything was.

“And?”

“And what?” asked Deborah, distracted by the other memory of Marcus grabbing her as she was about to leave and pinning her to the wall next to the front door. He’d kissed her hard and pushed his hand up under her skirt, sliding two fingers into the side of her panties. Her legs had buckled as he’d finger-fucked her right there, almost to the point of orgasm, but as her juices began flow, he’d withdrawn and shoved her out the door and on her way to work. She’d called him a bastard but she’d been smiling.

“Did you come up with anything?” The lab manager was trembling at the confrontation. Deborah had no idea why this woman had been put in the position of being in charge of people; even saying good morning made her crumble.

“No.” Deborah bowed her head in submission and retreated to her work station. Just when she felt she’d been getting somewhere with her research on how the toxins worked, she’d been swiftly seconded to this lab, where the study was concentrated on semen. She spent her days staring at Petri dishes of the tiny creatures swimming for their lives, deformed and withered by the effects of the noxious gases. It was her job to try and find anything that would stimulate and arouse the feeble, wriggling things into action. The male sperm died too quickly for insemination.

Deborah was frustrated at what she felt was a waste of her research and expertise. She should be at the forefront of theoretical exploration. She’d been close to something, she’d felt it in her bones, but there she was exposing these already sick little swimlings to more and more stimulants, poisons, or whatever else might cause a reaction. So far, nothing had worked.

Dishes and dishes of potential lay in varying stages of decay on her worktop. She readjusted the mirror on the microscope to get the best light from the lab window. At least that was a bonus. Restrictions on energy use and tighter regulations meant going back to the antiquated equipment of a time when scientists used natural resources to facilitate their work. Gone were the days of fluorescent lit underground holes. Labs were now gloriously high ceilinged, with south-facing rooms lined with windows to let the natural light of day flood in. Not until the very last shadow crept in would a light be allowed to be switched on, or a candle lit.

Deborah leaned over the eyepiece and took a look. Sluggish specimens lazily flopped around with no real direction. She’d excitedly spotted a few Y sperms in this batch, but they’d already stopped moving. New samples were brought in daily, and Deborah made sure to specify this particular donor’s came straight to her. The phone on her desk rang shrilly like an old bicycle bell, pulling her from her study. She picked the heavy black handset off its cradle beside her and cursed as the tangled cable caught on her notes, sending them scattering to the floor.

“Yes?” she snapped impatiently, straining down to gather the papers.

“Busy?” Her lover’s voice made her body soften and she sat up, leaning on her desk with her elbows.

“Always.” She smiled the way she invariably did at the sound of him. “You shouldn’t be calling here. You know I’ll get in trouble.” But she was grinning as he kept her on the line.

“Just look serious and nod every now and then,” he said, the familiar tone of lust inflecting his words. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” Deborah nodded and assumed a pose that she imagined looked serious enough to warrant a phone call during study hours.

“Now, doctor, tell me, how many people are in the room with you?”

She looked at her colleagues, counting quickly. There were seven others, plus the lab manager. “Eight so far this morning,” she replied, trying to sound efficient, as if this was part of a report to a superior.

“Good.” His voice was dripping with lust and the hair on her neck, close to her ear, bristled with the same naughty anticipation it always did whenever she heard that tone. “Now here’s what I want you to do.”

She looked anxiously about, knowing that he was about to give her a command to carry out in secret.

“Pull that sexy lab coat of yours up over your bum so it hangs over the back of your stool.”

She did. Her skirt was made of cheap, thin cotton, and her buttocks tensed at the slight chill of the wooden seat.

“Have you done that for me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now hook your toes under the first rung and spread your knees wide.”

She glanced around the room, her breath quickening, and did as she was bid. Her skirt strained a little on her thighs before riding up to allow her legs to open. Just that action alone caused the heady flight of arousal to mount in her abdomen.

“Now hitch your skirt up over your ass too.”

Without looking down, she dropped a hand and tugged her skirt up past her stocking tops, shivering again when the backs of her thighs were bared to the cool wood.

“Done?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” His voice thickened with every breath and a flurry of heat built in her crotch as she thought of him languidly sliding his palm over his trousered package. “Are your legs spread as wide as you can get them?”

She shuffled back, tipping her pelvis and opening her hips until it almost hurt. “Yes,” she whispered, and the manager looked at her quizzically from the front of the lab.

“Be more assertive next time,” Marcus said, as if sensing the surveillance. “Now tilt forward and press those tight lips into your seat.”

It was an awkward movement with her toes still tucked in and she had to shuffle some more. She looked briefly into the eyepiece of her microscope to disguise the motion, which only helped to apply more pressure to the area. She could hear her own breath magnified in the earpiece.

“I can hear that you’ve done that. No need to confirm.”

She remained silent and peered up to see if anyone sensed a disturbance. All was normal. Her sex was reacting nicely to being thrust open and pressed into the chair and the heat was beginning to turn to dampness in the crotch of her panties.

“Is your pussy getting wet now?”

“Yes,” she said, almost stammering at the rawness of the question.

“Good,” he said again, obviously turned on himself as the tell-tale nasal breathing deepened, and she imagined him unzipping himself. “Reach down and hook your middle finger into your knickers and pull them to the side.”

She did as she was bid and gasped as her fingers brushed her lips, which were slick with want and contracted as cool air flowed over them.

“Open yourself up and slide your sexy little middle finger right on up inside for me. Say yes when you’ve done it.”

Deborah eased her hand into her pants and pushed her digit easily into her slippery entrance. She cupped her mound and began to rock forward, pressing her now aching clit into the fleshy heel of her palm.

“Yes.”

“I think you need more, don’t you?” he asked, and she could tell his cock was in his own fist now by the wobble in his voice. “Put your index finger in too and hold the phone in the crook of your neck.”

Tilting her head, she trapped the phone, freeing her other hand.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she said, expecting him to command her to rub the peaking nub of flesh that was so desperately nestled between her pussy lips.

“Take the largest test tube on your desk.”

Deborah blushed and hesitated for a moment, then reached out and chose one of the empty, sterile vials, quickly taking it under the desk.

“Now, shuffle forward to the edge of your seat and fuck yourself with it.”

She had to look down to hide her hot, red cheeks behind her hair.

“Pretend it’s me under there, using my fingers and flicking your clit with my tongue.”

Deborah slid forward, withdrew her fingers, and held her soaking folds open for the tip of the vial. It was cold, and she winced and clenched shut at the impending invasion. Slowly, she eased the instrument into her tight entrance, enjoying the way it stretched her open right there in the lab, while her colleagues remained oblivious. She shifted her weight a little more and slid it halfway then pulled it out slowly, feeling the drag on her puckering flesh as it became coated with her juices.

“Is it in yet? Push it all the way in for me, all the way. Tell me when you’re done.”

Deborah pushed one finger into the open end of the test tube to get a better grip and began to pulse the glass dick into her, deeper and deeper, until it had almost disappeared inside. “Yes,” she whispered, and her nipples flooded with arousal as she caught sight of them stiffening beneath her blouse where her lab coat had fallen open. Her gaze drifted down to her wide-open pussy, rammed full and pulsing with the need to come.

“Now rub your clit, lick it with the tip of your fingers like a tongue. Lap it, taste it, eat it.”

His description made her suck her cheeks in between her teeth, mouth watering as she did as she was told and rolled the nub of pleasure around with her fingertips. Her chest was actually heaving now, and flushed with desire. She bit hard on her flesh as she pumped the vial in and out like a cock and rubbed her clit while rocking back and forth on her high chair. Her pleasure welled and began to peak just as he groaned in climax into her ear. Juices gushed out in a hot mass as one last thrust and tweak took her over the edge into her own orgasm. She closed her legs around her hands, holding the test tube in place as she quivered silently, adding pressure to keep the tiny after-surges pulsing. Finally letting out her breath, she gave one last, “Yes,” into the phone and smiled as he quietly hung up.

She withdrew the test tube and wiped it on a tissue before placing it back in the rack, making a mental note of which one not to use for her study. After sorting out the rest of her clothing, she leaned in and cast a lazy gaze into her microscope.