Resort Slut Ch 01

CHAPTER 1: DESPERATION

"WHAT THE FUCK!!" After many long, deep breaths, the female research director had her palms pressed into the top of her desk as she tried to calm herself. She finally turned and righted her rolling desk chair she had sent flying after reading the latest report summary from the test site near the university. "IDIOTS!" Breathe, she said to herself silently. "Damn. This is in a report? Don't they know what they might have done?"

* * * *

Just another sunny morning in Gainesville, Florida. I was rushing across campus from the dormitory for my appointment just about four blocks off campus. I sometimes wondered why I signed up for this. No, I know why. They were paying $100 per visit to participate in a blind study. The office I was rushing toward was on the second floor of a partially empty office building. I guessed an office that close to a major university wasn't as attractive an idea as someone had originally thought it was when it was built. The building wasn't that old and what it did seem good for was a use like this: conducting trial studies using university students who needed the cash. That would be me, I thought. I needed the cash.

I was a senior in the Business Administration College. Actually, I was a just beginning senior as the school year had just begun when I noticed the flyer posted on a bulletin board: "Young women needed for blind testing of developing treatments for sexual issues." Intriguing, right? Sexual issues. And the $100 per participating visit including the initial screening meeting.

This was my sixth visit and I had a brain full of questions. They were running two studies. One was a new drug to aid women suffering from Female Sexual Dysfunction in general with groups separated into minor cases and severe cases. That was not me. I was sexually active though I would NOT put myself in the slut category like my roommate. The other study was aimed at women who had the reverse issue. Yes, my roommate might have been a better candidate but I wanted the cash. That study was a drug that would suppress the sexual drive. They felt they could manage the dosage for slightly or greatly suppressing the drive. That was my study group. I rationalized that I could live with a lower sex drive for the length of the study because they did promise the dosage required regular treatments for long-term suppression.

It all sounded a bit iffy to me but I guessed there really must be women out there who were more of a slut than even my roommate. Even though I had rationalized my participation, I was really hoping I would be in the placebo side of the study. I went through a lot of physical examinations and questions. I wasn't a prude or ashamed of my sexual life but the depth of questions became invasion and, frankly, embarrassing. I mean, really, was it necessary to know seemingly every detail of each act since the last visit and did I orgasm and how many times. Apparently, anal orgasms are achieved by many women. I at least learned that.

As I entered the office building and took the stairs to the second floor, I was again rehearsing how I was going to confront the researcher assigned to me. I knew for a fact I had to be in the placebo group because my sex drive was not lessening. Just the opposite. I could hardly think about anything but sex. I wanted to fuck every guy I knew. I didn't, of course, but the need, the desire, the wanting was increasing steadily. I was still able to manage it by masturbating and the occasional hook-up for a good fuck that seemed to leave the poor guy exhausted. I was sure there was something wrong with their drug.

As I walked down the hallway, I spotted a notice taped to the door I needed to enter: "The study you have been assisting in has been discontinued. Thank you for participation."

I stood in disbelief staring at those words. Discontinued? Thank you for your participation? Nothing else? No phone number? No address?

I pulled out my phone from my back pocket and searched my calendar for any information about the research company. Nothing. I searched my contacts. Nothing. I searched my phone calls for anything. Nothing.

This can't be happening. What about me? What about the answers I need?

* * * *

"Is she the only one?"

The woman who is research director for the studies, the doctor assigned as medical oversight, and the corporation attorney are huddled in a conference room after everyone else in the headquarters building had left for the day. The doctor had just explained what the likely result of the error would be. The woman responsible for the study teams sat stunned. Her career was likely finished. That wasn't what the attorney was concerned with, however.

"How does someone who is supposed to be in a study to lessen sexual drive end up receiving the drug intended to solve Female Sexual Dysfunction? How does this happen?" the attorney asked while his mind continued to work out the exposure for the corporation.

The doctor chuckled. The lawyer didn't think anything about the situation was funny. "It isn't even that she merely got injected with the drug to increase sex drive, though. The notes are quite clear. How nobody there caught it is beyond me. She was injected with the wrong drug at the dosage intended for what it would be for the correct drug, the drug intended to suppress. That dosage is nearly 50% greater than recommended for FSD. It is supposed to be a double treatment and she received three treatments at the increased dosage level."

The woman added, "The notes even indicate she had been complaining that she was masturbating more than ever to find relief. Nobody seemed to bother to question that." She looked at the two men with her. "We have to do something for her. It was our fuck up."

"What we have to do," the attorney countered, "is reassign everyone on that study program and destroy any and all references to her and her treatments."

* * * *

"Hello," I numbly answered my cell phone. It was late. I wanted to go to sleep. I wanted to finish studying for the next days lectures. I couldn't seem to do either. Once again I was in the midst of yet another masturbation session with the seven inch black dildo I had secretly ordered online. Any other concentration was becoming increasingly difficult.

"Is this Beth Harms?" came a voice that sounded middle-aged and female. "I want to be sure I have the right person." There was a pause, then, "Your birth date is March 11, 2003?" Yes. "You are Caucasian, 5' 1" tall, fit/athletic build, 110 pounds?" Yes. "Currently a senior in the University of Florida's Business Administration program?" Yes. "Long brunette hair, hazel eyes, C-cup breasts, and bald vaginal area?"

"Who are you and how do you know all that? What's this about?" I demanded, the demanding sexual itch temporarily overshadowed.

"I am not about to tell you who I am or where this information came from," she responded. "I am using a burner phone and before you can contact the police or anyone else, there will be no phone number to trace. I am calling because you have been harmed. I know that. You were a part of a study for treatment of female sexual disorder?"

"Yes," I responded. Was this a source of help? Was someone going to be able to help me? "Yes and something isn't right. Something went wrong. The drug had the wrong effect."

"I am not going to divulge very much, but yes, you were given the wrong drug at a dosage... I don't know... maybe two and a half times the recommended dosage for women with no sexual drive."

I knew it. "So, what are they going to do about it?" I asked hopefully.

"Nothing," came the devastating response. "I am sorry this happened to you. Honestly, I am. We're supposed to be helping people, not hurting them. You won't exist in the study. As we speak, they are deleting you and all record of you from the study. The study there is closed down and being moved. All the staff is being reassigned."

"What about me? What am I supposed to do?"

"What are you feeling? Why did you say something was wrong?" she asked. It was almost in a clinical tone.

"I was sexually active before but I joined the study for the money. I figured I could focus on my classwork a few months if no sex was in my future. Now... now I can't think about anything else but sex. I masturbate all the time. I don't hook up with guys because I don't want that reputation, unlike my roommate, and that sure doesn't help. Can you at least tell me if this is temporary?"

"Listen... I am sorry but nobody is going to come to your aid. I'm sorry. Okay, yes, it is temporary but not like you might hope for. It is not temporary like in months. This is likely to be several years at the dosage you received. I'm sorry. But... I am going to text you some information. There is an island resort with a job opening. Think of it as sabbatical from your studies. Earn some money and experience and maybe some... help with your problem." I didn't understand. "My husband and I were there recently. I saw the help wanted on a nearby island. It's a unique place. Call them. I will call them and recommend you."

"You don't know anything about me. Not really."

"I have to do something. I know I've said this too much, but I am sorry."

"Wait," I said, "isn't there something..."

But the phone had gone silent.

* * * *

The text came as promised not fifteen minutes later. I tried calling the number and it went to messages. I tried five minutes later and it rang and rang. True to her word, she had gotten rid of the phone somewhere or crushed.

I started up my laptop and studied the text. Black Isle Resort. Website address. A contact name, Don Tillman, and phone number. That was all the help she was going to provide, apparently. So, I mused as I open the browser, what the hell is Black Isle Resort?

* * * *

"Mr. Tillman?" I asked as a man answered my phone call on the third ring. "This might sound... well, this might be the weirdest call you've ever received."

A laugh returned to me. "You have no idea how weird some of my phone calls turn out to be," he said.

"Well,... I was encouraged by someone... she wouldn't say who she was... that I should call you and that you might have a job opening that might help me."

"Wait," he hesitantly said, "I received a call from a woman who wouldn't say who she was. Okay, this is pretty weird. I blew her off because it sounded too strange. She said she hoped a young woman would call for a job at the resort. Is your name Beth Harms?" I confirmed it was. "Okay... this is really is too strange. I think we need to talk. What is going on, Beth? I mean this unknown woman said she would reimburse the expenses of you to come down for an interview. Are you in legal trouble, Beth?"

"No. No legal problems. I... it seems I've... it's embarrassing," I was floundering.

"The woman started rambling about you being in a research study group and a mistake was made and you... she kept saying she was sorry and wanted to help but... something about the company burying it... covering up the mistake." I was silent. "Are you okay, Beth? Are you sure you don't need medical help instead of a job at a place like this?"

"I know what your resort is. I went to the website. As odd as it sounds, I think a job at your resort might be exactly what I need right now."

I could almost see him shaking his head over the phone but we agreed I would send a detailed resume of any experience and my coursework. He also asked that I explain what this was all about. That would be a difficult explanation. Then we would talk, again.

* * * *

I had finally decided that explaining to Mr. Tillman that my sanity might rely on me being in a place where I could get a lot of sex was best done by being brutally honest. I stop far short of being too detailed, though. I ended up giving him a condense Readers Digest version. Despite how embarrassing even that was to admit to a stranger. Only a couple hours after I sent him the explanation and the resume, I received a call back from him. He still sounded skeptical and it wasn't hard to blame him for that. But, he agreed to an interview, especially since he had nothing to lose since the expenses would reimbursed.

Getting to Black Isle Resort was an adventure of it's own. It was a short flight from Gainesville, Florida to Miami and then a small plane to an island in the Caribbean and finally a ferry boat to the small island that was Black Isle Resort. The ferry made scheduled trips from the resort to the closest island and was the only means to get to Black Isle Resort. Not only guests but staff used the ferry to go to and from.

It was early afternoon as the ferry made its way across the open water between the islands. I wondered if the sun, blue sky, no pollution, gentle sea breeze, lush green foliage of the islands, and clean, simmering water of the Caribbean sea could ever be taken for granted. I wondered if I might get the chance to find out.

I appeared to be the only person on the ferry who wasn't going to the resort for the start of shift. I had a lot of questions about the area and the people around me were very pleasant and willing to try to answer. Sometimes, the heavy accent of the native population was a bit hard to decipher but was also very charming. I knew I stood out as different as the ferry docked and we lined up to exit the boat. At 5' 1" tall, only lightly tanned, and awkward in transferring from the gently rocking boat to the gentle rise and fall of the floating dock, I stood out.

"Beth Harms?" came a strong, deep voice that I immediately recognized but in person sounded even more robust and authoritative.

I scanned through the other dark skinned people who exited the boat ahead of me. With my backpack slung over my right shoulder, I found a black man slowly walking toward me. The others seemed to flow around him, many nodding to him as they passed and him giving each a smile. He was about six feet tall, black hair, and obviously fit and strong. He wore crisp dress shorts, dark blue polo shirt with the resort name on the left chest, sandals, and sunglasses which kept me from seeing his eyes. His face, though, was relaxed.

I had opted for a casual dress that provided full coverage with a hem that was just above my knees. I was there for an interview but the culture here was very casual. I would shortly find out just how casual. I should have known from pics on the website but a few pics and words indicating 'clothing optional' somehow didn't sink in.

He took my backpack off my shoulder leaving me with a small purse over my other shoulder. "Let's go directly to my office," he said indicating an electric golf cart. I saw the workers climbing onto... well, all I could think of was electric golf buses.

The ride was only five minutes as the administration and registration building were the first to be encountered. So far I saw no hint of clothing optional but that soon changed. Entering the main building were two young island women behind the reception counter. They waved to Mr. Tillman and he waved back. That indicated a friendly work environment but their attire is what almost stopped me. Both were dressed in bikini tops with a sheer beach wrap around their waist and bikini thong bottoms underneath. And they were very comfortable. Then, from behind us came a young couple, white, heading for the concierge desk. The woman was naked except for a waist chain and large sun hat. The man was wearing a Speedo, which I don't think I had ever seen in person.

Mr. Tillman pointed down a side hall and chuckled, "You didn't quite believe the website?"

"It's just different seeing it," I offered weakly. "Besides, I might be going to school in Florida but I'm really from a small town in south-central Illinois." He nodded as if that explained something.

We entered an office where he indicated a chair after placing my backpack on the floor and moving behind the desk which showed that he had been doing work but it was still orderly which I took as a sign about the man. After asking if I needed any water, he leaned forward with his forearms on the desk and looked at me closely.

"Beth, this remains very mysterious and that description you included with the resume was... well it left a lot of holes to be filled. It isn't that I necessarily don't believe you... about what happened... and that anonymous phone call I got referencing you certainly adds some credibility but..." he paused and opened his large hands toward me, "it is hard to fathom."

"I know," I admitted. "I need to give you the full details." I took a deep breath, my hands fidgeting in my lap. I took another deep breath. I hadn't tried to describe any of this to anyone, especially not my parents. I blushed deeply just preparing myself to tell the story but I did push through it to the bitter end with the call I received from the woman who sent me down here.

After I stopped talking, I glanced nervously up. He had long ago leaned back in his chair as if the weight of my confession was somehow lying heavy on his desk. His eyes didn't leave me, though. This was a man who knew how to handle people, I thought.

"This," he softly offered, "this is unbelievable." For just a moment I thought he didn't believe me and this opportunity would be gone before I had a chance. "How does something like that happen? No... no, you hear about surgeon leaving things inside patients but you don't really imagine it happening to you." He got up and walked to a window. For several minutes he watched something outside. Without turning around, "Just to get my head around this... you were sexually active and they gave you a drug meant to stimulate sexual desire in women not otherwise capable?"

"Yes," I softly responded, "but at a much higher dosage than recommended. Or, that's what that woman said."

"And at that point," he continued the thought, "she certainly didn't have any reason to lie or exaggerate." I agreed.

He decided he should give me a quick tour of the grounds. What he showed me was just how much nudity there was. At the pool and spa area, I tried not to stare at a white woman in the arms of a black man. They were both naked, the man was fondling the woman's breasts and the woman was lazily stroking his cock. On the lounge next to them was a white man watching intently. At the beach, I saw several such couplings. There was a staff man rubbing sunscreen into the flesh of a woman. Mr. Tillman said that was as intimate as on-duty guys could get with the guests. We entered the main restaurant. It was early for dinner but there were a few people dining. All the men were in shorts and shirts, most unbuttoned, while the women were mostly in sheer nightgowns or corsets and stockings. The dining room and club were the two places where full nudity wasn't allowed and where sexual contact was not allowed.

Back at his office. "In case you couldn't grasp from the website what this resort is, you should now." I nodded with a smile. "Beth, this resort isn't cheap. This is a place where nudity is encouraged and public sex is promoted. We promote the black/white experience which means many of the guest are black men seeking white females and white single women or couples come seeking black men. We promote the interracial mystique. Psychologically, it is very powerful and very lucrative." He watched me for a moment. "I take it that mystery woman recommended this resort because of the sex."

"Yes, she said she and her husband been just been down here and noticed the help wanted posters on the other islands."

"And, I assume you thought after looking at the website that this place could provide you with sexual relief?" he pushed.

I was blushing, again. How do you sit in front of a handsome man and admit to your sexual needs that have gone off the rails due to no fault of your own. "Yes. This is crazy, isn't?"