Dr Jolene Ch 01

CHAPTER 1: UNDERSTANDING

"Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Washburn."

Mr. Stanley Washburn, CEO and majority owner of Washburn Pharmaceuticals, Inc. He was 68 years old, still in very good shape, some might say for his age, but I always thought that didn't give him his due credit. He was still vibrant and strong and ruled over the company with the same energy and devotion that made it what it was in the industry. Although I had detected a pouch over his stomach, he was still a strong 5' 10" at 180 pounds. He had a full head of silver hair and came across as one of the most distinguished men I had met.

"Jolene, why do you continue to use such formality with me?"

"You recruited me personally, sir. I'm not sure I would be here if it hadn't been for your persistence and exceedingly generous offer for employment. I'll never take that for granted or forget that you gave me my chance."

Me, Dr. Jolene Trent with PHD's after my name, a scientist/researcher with specializations in pharmaceuticals, genetics, and medicine. At 33 years old, I have quickly gained respected standing in the company and industry. Like Mr. Washburn, I have continued to work at maintaining a trim, athletic body on a 5' 4", 110-pound frame. My long hair is dark brown generally kept loosely hanging. And, I know my large, full breasts attract some attention even under the drab laboratory jackets.

He waved his hand to dismiss comments of gratitude and leaned back in his chair behind the expansive desk. It was the end of the day and the Washburn building was becoming increasingly quiet, which matched the increasing quiet outside as the office park emptied out for the day.

"Don't make me wait too much longer to hear you call me 'Stan', please. I am not getting any younger you know."

"Sir, to my eyes you aren't getting any older, either."

He laughed. I so enjoyed hearing him completely relax. The truth was I felt he had worked hard enough for long enough and should find something that he could just enjoy that didn't involve budgets, deadlines, and government approvals. Instead, he leaned forward, still with a lilt in his voice, "You sweet-talker. So, what is really on your mind?"

I took a deep breath before plunging in. "Am I being punished for something?" He sat back in his chair and looked at me. I couldn't read anything confirming or denying in his expression. It was one of the things that made him so successful. "Sir, from the time you brought me here, you've thrown me into the deep end of the pool without a lifeguard in sight, though I am sure you had one nearby. Project after project were successes. The last few years as team leader the projects have been equally successful."

Quietly, he added, "Better under your leadership."

"So why am I suddenly assigned to these mundane projects? There are projects down there that are critical ... hugely impactful. Why am I working on generic formulations? I'm sorry, sir, I don't want this to sound like an ego trip, but any of those people down there could be doing that."

"Did you talk to Johnson?" Johnson was the group resource manager. What he did was make sure the critical projects had the support they needed for complexity and deadlines.

"You know I did. Johnson is ... he's weak, he has no apparent spine, yet he didn't relent under my pressuring him. The only thing meaningful that came out of his mouth that seemed to keep him standing up to me was 'those are my instructions'. And, I thought, 'instructions', of course, if it was his decision, he would never have stood up to me. But, if he had been given 'instructions' that took him off the hook, but who had the pull to make that decision? You, sir. Then, all I need to know is ... why?"

He stared at me for a moment and sighed, "You have a problem, Jolene. A serious problem."

"What ...?"

"Vegas last weekend? And a long list of other such weekends and trips: Fantasy Fest in Key West last fall, Mardi Gras in New Orleans, the Super Bowl before that, New York City, Miami ... it's a long list. And, I know what happened at all these places."

I was shocked, maybe hurt. "You've been spying on me? Why?"

He shook his head. "You know why! You know this company makes its money by being ahead of the curve in getting Fed approval and getting to market. Our competitors are watching us and some would do anything to take us down."

God, he knows about all those ... He thinks I might be a risk? That's why I am still here but working on nothing projects. He thinks that way if I am compromised, they won't getting anything of significance.

Weakly I attempted a comeback, "That was personal time." I knew it was weak but it wasn't in my nature to give in easily.

He sighed deeply. I could tell this was hurting him, too. "Yes, personal time is personal time, but ... Jolene, you know how we protect confidentiality and security. We're tighter than many government installations."

"What do you think you know?"

He chuckled, "Don't even start with me. You can put on that air and bluff your way out with most people, but not me." He looked at his computer monitor, glanced at me, and moved the mouse and clicked. "Come see for yourself. I know a lot."

I wasn't sure I wanted to see. This was so embarrassing. I had let down the one man in my life who I looked up to the most, who I put all my trust and confidence in. He had opened doors for me from the beginning and I had committed myself ever since to never letting him down. Now I had.

He opened a folder named "Jolene Trent Compromised". Photos appeared. Dozens, maybe hundreds. Me with men in bars and in the streets, some obviously through hotel windows. Compromising, indeed. Even that strip club in New Orleans. I still didn't know how that guy talked me into Amateur Night.

I felt his eyes on me like a laser as I moved back around his desk, but I didn't stop at the chair where I had been sitting, instead continuing to the wall of windows to the side. His office on the east side presented a beautiful view from the fourth floor over the undeveloped green space with trees and uncut natural grasses. Occasionally, deer, fox, and turkey wandered in from the small river just to the north.

In the reflection in the window, I saw him rise and move toward me. I felt his hand softly rest on my left shoulder as he came close on my right, an unusually intimate gesture for him. He released a long sigh before continuing. "You're the only person I have entrusted with my personal life. You know I lost my wife and daughter a life-time ago to this company. Everyone thinks I was never married. This company is about all I have."

I put my hand on top of his on my shoulder, an equally intimate move considering I only address him formally. "I'm sorry, sir. I never had any intention of hurting the company and definitely not you." Tears welled in my eyes and I lowered my face to hide the tears dripping onto my cheeks. I had always believed I was too strong a woman to succumb to crying, but this man was more than a boss and I wasn't even sure if I understood how that relationship had evolved. I sucked in air to steady my voice, "I'll stop. I can control it."

"No ... you can't. Jolene, it's part of what you are, of who you are." My head sagged down. I knew I hadn't been fooling myself, but I also hadn't been fooling him. He turned me to face him, both hands on my shoulders. I looked into his face despite myself. "I've done my own research, dear."

'Dear'. That's new. We've always had a connection but this was beyond our working relationship. He wasn't a stern boss ready to drop bad news. 'Research'. He has been working the situation himself before we had this confrontation. Waiting for me to approach, first.

He continued as if he was following my own train of thought. "Based on everything I have learned AND from the many experts I have consulted, the most appropriate slang term would be 'slut'."

I am a professional, strong and independent, admired for my accomplishments, even envied for my rapid rise in the industry. My eyes blasted with indignation as I stepped back from his soft touch. "How dare you!"

He held up his hand to stop me from protesting further, though. "Okay, the term is crude, but are you really going to deny it?" He walked back to his desk and sat down. I remained at the window. "I think I have thought about your problem more than you have and I think I understand you and it quite well."

I faced him defiantly, even to the point of crossing my arms under my ample breasts. He smiled. "Willing to play a little game of 'Truth and Dare'? If I can identify a telling truth about you and your 'problem', you'll fulfill a dare."

I was suspicious. What was he up to? "What kind of dare?"

He smiled, again. It was as if he could tell that something was changing, that I was opening up to whatever he was leading up to. "Remove an article of clothing." His eyes twinkled.

What was this 68-year-old man up to? I wanted to react with indignation, but there was much more about this. He was leading up to something and, after all, I owed him enough to play along to see what it was. I nodded.

Again, he smiled with some satisfaction that I was moving past denial and resentment at being caught. He sat calmly behind his desk and presented surprising and penetrating insights about me and my slutty behavior, checking them off along with my dress, shoes, and stockings. His use of 'slut' became very descriptive, even to me. As I reached behind my back to unfasten my bra and slip it down my arms to be dropped along with my other cloths on a chair, my body was showing him what I had been feeling since the game had begun. My nipples were hard buttons on my breasts. My small pale blue bikini panties showed the wetness of my pussy.

I stood before him only in panties. No longer the indignant scientist trying to maintain control. He had effectively exposed who I was ... figuratively and literally.

I glanced down my body and blushed. Not only at my nearly complete nakedness, but my obvious arousal. But, through my blush I smiled at him. "Is there one more insight, sir?"

He chuckled, "The coup de grace, actually."

I arched my eyebrows.

"I know what your dream would be if you could have anything." My eyebrows arched higher. "If you could have anything, it would be to fully realize the ultimate in your slutty self through whatever miracles your brilliant scientific self could conjure up. You would combine the two parts of you that give you the greatest pride and satisfaction. Whatever mind-bending sexual experience you might experience you would be intent on exceeding it somehow, someway."

I immediately slipped my thumbs into my panties and pushed them down my legs. He pointed to the chair and I sat down without thought. I stared at him as he stared at me, though his eyes weren't necessarily fixed on my face.

After a time of quiet, he asked, "You're not going to ask?"

"Ask? Are you serious? You have something in mind? I don't understand how ... why would you?"

He laughed. "Partly because I find myself caring very much about you. I always have. You are honestly the most brilliant scientist I have ever known and I would not want to have that brilliance go to waste. And, as a businessman, there could be a huge potential here if you found something that enhanced your experience." I frowned. Was he serious or teasing me? "Think about it, dear. Science has come up with aids for a man's experience."

I nodded, "Yes, but it is simplistic. So, a man gets hard and is hard for an extended time. It's artificial. If a man having trouble with erection and performance could be aided in a way that duplicates arousal, enhanced performance, softening, and maybe quicker recovery, that would be something."

"Yes, and if that can be done for a man, it could be done for a woman? A woman who lacks natural secretion, lacks natural arousal, or low sex interest?"

"You're serious." He nodded. "How?"

"Does that mean you're interested?" I was stunned and could only nod. He smiled, "I will tell Johnson I have a special project for you."

* * * *

Three months later, I still couldn't fully come to grips with what had happened at that meeting with Mr. Washburn. He had not only identified and verbalized an ultimate passion, he had agreed to fund, sponsor, and support with autonomy. He had gotten me naked in his office and managed to have me be comfortable about it. But, now, only three months later, I had the first prototype treatment, which was the one for men who suffer from erectile disorder and premature ejaculation. Though it still lacked the testing the FDA would require, I was 99.99% confident in the result.

It was almost 5:30 PM Friday, which was the earliest I could get to see Mr. Washburn, but my excitement wouldn't be repressed by something as simple as a busy boss.

"Doctor, by your excitement, I presume you have some exciting news?"

"Yes, sir! I've completed the first project. Although it hasn't been tested for approach to the government, I'm 99.99% confident it will sail through the testing program."

He stood up and moved to the cabinets on the side opposite the windows, which opened to expose a well-stocked bar. "Excellent, Jolene! Get the door, please, and let's celebrate."

When I returned, he was pouring two glasses of champagne. He indicated the couch in the sitting area of his massive office. After sitting, he handed me a glass and we toasted. He was talking excitedly about my work, effort, and progress. It was non-stop praise and, with the champagne, seemed to quickly have me on a high of accomplishment and being supremely valued. After the second glass, I could hear his voice, but the room began to lose focus and the words lost in a soft buzz of sounds.

* * * *

As I retreated to close the office door, Mr. Washburn slipped a few drops of something in one of the champagne glasses. It was colorless, odorless, and tasteless. I didn't notice when he repeated it for the second glass. All I felt was the happy euphoria of accomplishment and being praised by an appreciative boss I owed so much to. Although, I had yet to begin imagining how my scientific efforts might advance my striving for the 'ultimate sexual experience' as Mr. Washburn referred to it, I had accomplished the one that might benefit him and that seemed a fitting way to start along this path of special projects.

When I sagged against the back of the couch, Mr. Washburn pulled his cell phone from his suit jacket and press one number. "I'm ready."

Almost instantly, a side door opened and two very large, black men walked into the office. One of the men had my purse and briefcase, which were placed on the coffee table before the couch. Mr. Washburn took a small, hard case from his desk and placed it next to the purse while the two men gently moved me to a lying position.

They left and returned a couple hours later to give the timing an appearance of a significant amount of celebration should I check on when I reentered through my condo security electronics. One of the men carried me to my car in the building's garage to drive me to my condo downtown while Mr. Washburn in his limousine followed behind driven by the other man. About 15 minutes after my car entered the underground parking garage and was parked in my condo's assigned space, the man who assisted me to my apartment, exited by the building's front door, and took the front passenger seat of the limo.

From the back seat, Mr. Washburn verified what he knew to expect from these two men, "Any issues?"

As the car left the curb, the man partially turned in his seat, "None, sir. As directed, I dropped her purse, case, and keys on the entry table, took her to her bedroom, undressed her leaving her clothes dropped through the bedroom as if she had barely managed to accomplish that, and settled her in bed with only her panties on." He handed the small, hard case back to his boss.

"Any issue with the injection?"

"None. She never reacted to the prick or the injection."

"Excellent, gentlemen, as always. You'll be rewarded soon."

The two men in the front seat shared a knowing look and smiled.

* * * *

When I woke Saturday morning, I had the disconcerting feeling of not knowing how I had gotten home from the office. I threw the covers off, sat up carefully, and looked around my bedroom. My clothes were spread along the floor from the doorway to the bed as if it had been the only thing I could manage. My head felt fuzzy but without a strong feeling like I might get sick and only a mild headache.

I went to the bathroom, then grabbed a thin robe from the closet and went into the main part of the apartment. I figured coffee was always a good start after an evening of too much to drink. I started a pot of coffee and found my purse, briefcase, and key ring at the entry table.

I took out my cell and check for messages. There was one and it was from Mr. Washburn. "Jolene, I wanted to apologize, if necessary. I hope I didn't encourage too much celebration last night, but I am exceedingly proud of you and the work you have already accomplished on this project. I look forward to discussing it in more detail on Monday. But, first, please send me a text so I know you arrive home safely. And, Jolene, I just know you will start the experiences you seek very shortly."

I verbalized, "Thank you, sir." Then I sent him a confirming text.

As I sipped at my coffee trying to recount the events of the evening, I found a very large gap after the second glass of champagne. I shrugged it off since Mr. Washburn didn't seem to indicate anything bad had happened and went on with my normal weekend chores and activities. As I went through the weekend, though, I had an increasing feeling something was different. It wasn't anything dramatic, serious, or anxious. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I felt a quiet spreading over me, peace and contentment, and a yearning to see Mr. Washburn Monday. I took all of that as a satisfying reaction to accomplishment and Mr. Washburn's recognition of it, not to mention discussing it all with him and outlining the next steps of my work.

There was another recurring feeling welling within me, too. Although my mind was in a place of peace and contentment, my body was energized. I was puzzled by how wet my panties would become, changing them frequently, until I finally decided to go without for the rest of the weekend. Mr. Washburn's words kept repeating in my head, "And, Jolene, I just know you will start the experiences you seek very shortly."

Monday, I couldn't wait to meet with Mr. Washburn, again. I called his secretary as soon as I arrived to get onto his schedule and was surprised to hear that he left word with her to let me in as soon as I wished.

As I entered his office, I closed the door. He rose from his chair and met me half way. He hugged me with familiarity and led me to the chairs in front of his desk. As he took his seat next to me, "My dear, you can't imagine how proud I am of you." I blushed and that was new. I seemed to hang on his words of praise and confidence in my work and the direction I had laid out for other segments of the project. He leaned toward me and gazed into my eyes, his hand lightly touching my knee exposed under my dress. I didn't only blush but also flushed as my body reacted to the touch.

"Tell me, where do you think the next emphasis of the project should focus?" We discussed the various directions and he thought for a moment, his hand still on my knee. He turned partly toward me, his hand sliding lightly, as if he were unaware of it happening, over my knee and onto my thigh. I shifted in the chair, which had the effect of my dress rising further up my thigh. His hand seemed to follow the hem of the dress. "I was thinking, my dear. You seemed to quickly find the link for the male performance issue and develop a formulation for it. Do you think a link for the male enhancement potential might follow along the same discovery?"