It was a warm, balmy evening as I drove towards Emma's house, liquid pools of light hovering above the scorching blacktop and the breeze ruffling my hair through the half-open car window. On my left, beyond a neat row of palm trees, the pacific was a deep shade of blue endlessly stretching out towards the horizon and on my right, the bare hills rose away from the highway, dry and brown and dusty. I slowed and indicated as I approached the exit ramp off the highway, the engine of my ancient Mazda whining like a moody teenager as the road turned and rose sharply, twisting and narrowing as I started up into the hills.
I felt a surge of nervous excitement now I was getting closer to my destination. When we'd spoken earlier, Emma had said she wanted to talk about my progress so far and to discuss 'some potential opportunities', but I still wasn't exactly sure what that meant. I guess she meant some new project at the lab but she really hadn't been clear. I'd heard some gossip that she was in the process of getting a divorce and was living alone right now, and I fantasized that if we got on really well maybe I could ask her out on a date although it seemed naive to think she'd really be interested in dating a younger member of staff.
The first six months here on the west coast had really rushed by. I moved over here to the states after I'd graduated, following my mother and sister on the long haul across the Atlantic after my parents divorced and I'd really been enjoying my research so far. Currently my team was working for a large pharma company, designing and conducting phase three trials of a new drug codenamed "MD338J" that it was hoped would help people suffering from trauma, in particular PTSD. "MD338J" wasn't the catchiest of names and we'd all taken to calling it "Magic Dust" for short. It was an acetylcholine-blocker similar to scopolamine but its big advantage was that it could be taken orally rather than injected, and everyone seemed hopeful that it would prove to be more effective based on the tests that we'd conducted so far.
The tests were quite simple and revolved around comparing the effect of the new drug with the current market-leader. We administered a carefully controlled dose of 'magic dust' (usually by dissolving it in a fluid like tea or coffee) and then had the subject talk about the experiences that had traumatised them to a trained counsellor. The interviewer would encourage them to talk openly, letting them explore their feelings in a safe environment and occasionally interjecting with reassuring phrases. Something about the new drug seemed to be more effective in relieving their symptoms then the standard-drug-enhanced counselling and although the trials had only been running for a couple of months, we were all optimistic that the effects seemed to be lasting, a long time cure rather than a short term fix.
I just hoped she hadn't heard about what had happened earlier in the week. It was silly really, just something that had gotten a little out-of-hand. I'd been talking about the strange effects of the drug with one of my fellow researchers, both of us curious about how it would feel to be in that odd semi-hypnotic, impressionable state in which the subject seemed to just want to go along with the interviewer. We'd dared each other to try it which, needless to say, was strictly forbidden. In the end, we'd flipped a coin and as she'd lost, I'd insisted that Selena had (reluctantly) been the one emptying the little sachet of white powder into her diet coke as we wandered the corridors of the lab discretely looking for an empty interview room.
Once inside, the door safely locked behind us I'd started with a number of the usual warm-up questions: childhood fears, earliest memories, favourite pets, anything to get the subject talking freely. I was fascinated with the effect of the drug and the signs that it was slowly taking effect. I watched Selena closely as we talked, noting how she slowly became more agreeable, less inhibited, her petite body slumping in her chair slightly, her posture relaxed, the pupils of her bright blue eyes dilating slightly. In short, it looked a little like she'd had a couple of drinks and was on her way to getting drunk or stoned but without any loss of coherence and reasoning.
As it became clear it was working, I couldn't resist moving onto more personal experiences, prompting her to talk about her earliest sexual encounter. She'd had a very sheltered semi-religious upbringing and I was surprised to find that it hadn't happened till she was eighteen, giving her boyfriend a handjob because she was too scared to go 'all the way'. One of the odd features of the new drug was that it somehow seemed to enhance older memories. I listened intently feeling a mixture of curiosity and arousal as she described how shocked she was by the size and heat of his cock as her fingers tugged down the waistband of his shorts, then his larger fingers wrapped over hers, showing her what to do, urging her into a slightly quicker rhythm, his lusty gasps quickly getting louder and finally her surprised cry as he came prematurely and explosively, and what seemed like gallons of semen splashed over her hand, staining her favourite green skirt.
Her explicit confession made it clear that her inhibitions were well-and-truly lowered and I couldn't help feeling excited about the possibilities as she sat across from me putting a hand over her mouth to stifle a drunken giggle. She was an attractive woman, short and slim with short coppery hair and slightly pouty pink lips, and a few years older than me, perhaps pushing thirty. Her pale skin looked slightly flushed, another effect of the drug.
"It's warm in here, huh?" I said, looking around the room and feeling relieved at the lack of a security camera. "Why don't you take off your blouse?"
"You're such a naughty boy!" she said, wagging a finger at me then slapping it over her mouth to suppress a brief, snorting laugh.
"Come on, it really is warm in here. You know you'll feel so much cooler if you slip it off," I insisted.
"Yeah, you know it is hot, the air-conditioning is crappy here but I think you just want to see my tits, you pervert!" she said, grinning at me as she toyed with the top button. It felt odd to hear her using such crude language; she was normally so polite and well-spoken.
"Take off your shirt please," I continued trying my best to maintain the neutral, even tone I used when interviewing.
I felt myself leaning forward a little, holding my breath as she slowly unfastened first one then two of the buttons. She looked down, biting her lip as if she had to concentrate as she continued, ignoring me as she steadily worked lower, her shirt falling open exposing glimpses of her smooth creamy skin. Obviously, there were some serious ethical questions I should be asking myself here but Selena had volunteered for this little experiment and what young man wouldn't take advantage of a situation like this?
"There," she said, a note of triumph in her voice as she finished and pulled her shirt open with a startling lack of modesty.
I felt my cock stir as I let my eyes roam over the flawlessly smooth skin of her lean torso with small yet perky boobs straining a little against a silky, emerald-green bra as I pondered what to do next. If she took off her shirt, what else would she take off? What else could she be persuaded to do? How long would the drug's effects last?
Unfortunately, I'd never get a chance to find out. We both turned as there was a sharp rapping on the door, followed by a gruff voice: "Hey! Is there somebody in there? I got this room booked from one."
"Sorry, sorry Ralph, we're just finishing up here, give us a minute," I said, recognising the voice of our team leader as I quickly got to my feet and tried to help Selena to re-button her shirt.
"Stop trying to grope me you perv," she giggled, brushing my hands away as she fumbled with the buttons, finally finishing as Ralph impatiently banged on the door again.
I took Selena for a walk around the little outside break area afterwards, apologising although she didn't seem to have a clear memory of what had happened, which was something of a relief.
Now as I neared Emma's house, I looked back and realised that I didn't feel too badly about it. I felt the drug only lowered your inhibitions a little; it couldn't make you do anything you really didn't want to do. Surely Selena wouldn't have taken off her top if she really didn't really want to? To my mind the drug just helped emphasize the more daring (slutty?) part of her personality. We knew the results varied between test subjects and I couldn't imagine it having the same effect on me, for example. I felt I was just too rational and strong-willed.
However as I neared the turn-off, I really hoped that she hadn't heard about what I considered a prank that had gone too far, but what I suppose could be construed as sexual harassment. I didn't want to get a bad reputation this early on in my career.
My palms felt a little moist and sticky, clinging to the wheel as I turned into the drive of her hillside house, the car coasting down a short concrete driveway into a small parking bay.
A large, matronly Latina maid was just leaving just as I got out of the car. She let me in and pointed towards the front of the house where Emma, Head of Research awaited me. It was a modern house, its plain white walls brightened with colourful abstract art. I paused by a mirror in the hallway and used my fingers to try and smooth down my hair, which although cut quite short looked a little wild and wind-swept. I was clean-shaven, my face looking boyish and a little flushed in the heat; people often remarked that I looked even younger than my twenty-five years.
I emerged from a dark corridor into a bright, spacious room. My eyes were slow to adjust and at first Emma was just an indistinct yellow blob in the large white space made to appear more roomy by the lack of furniture and the huge plate glass floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the bay.
"John, hi, thanks for coming," she said, her voice clear and slightly husky with the slightest of west coast drawls.
My eyes slowly adjusted and I found her standing in front of a comfy-looking cream leather chair, a report of some kind dangling from one hand. She'd usually wear a skirt suit to the office and her hair would normally be tied back in some way so I was pleasantly surprised to see her wearing a summery yellow dress, that showed off her shapely figure, making her look so much more womanly and feminine. And sexy. Her hair was centre-parted, and fell in glossy dark chocolate waves over her bare shoulders. It framed a face which was pleasant rather than pretty, and a little stern with high cheekbones and darkly intense eyes under slender eyebrows.
"Well, thanks for inviting me, this is quite a place," I said, unable to resist strolling over to the window and taking in the impressive view. To my right a half-open door lead onto a large patio containing a small table and a couple of chairs and beyond a railing the pacific was far below, just the small white triangle of a sailboat spoiling the perfect blue.
"Thanks, yeah, I love it here," she said joining me at the window. "Did you find it okay?"
"Yes, no problem," I said, turning to face her and letting my eyes roam, once again noting the way her dress clung to her gorgeous figure, emphasizing her slim waist and rounded hips.
"So you like the view, huh?" she asked, and I felt myself blush a little, realising that I'd been caught staring. Her large brown eyes flicked down briefly as if she was assessing my choice of clothes. I hadn't known what to wear, unsure of whether this was purely business so I'd played safe and despite the heat, I'd worn what I'd usually wear to the lab, a crisp white shirt and a pair of dark grey trousers. She smiled as her eyes flicked back upwards and I guessed she approved of my choice and began to hope that maybe this visit was more pleasure than business.
"It's lovely. You and your husband must be out there every evening enjoying it."
