Dr. Porneau's Pet: Part 2
by Prevert One
Dr. Armand Porneau, who was neither dead nor missing, watched the beautiful young woman splashing playfully in his pool. "Wow!" he thought, "I've seen some big'uns in my time, but damn! Thank you Ms. Wells and thank you God for creating her."
Dr. Porneau's knowledge of Tiffany was acquired through etat du art technology: motion and sound detectors planted throughout the island, house, and pool; hidden cameras covering every inch of property. The moment Tiffany set foot on the island, she was tracked. "Wow!" he thought, "Will you look at that!"
Typically, people who trespassed were either stray surfers, boaters, or drug runners. Their looks ranged from butt ugly to reasonably hot, but nothing like Tiffany. The surfers and boaters he ignored; they usually left after a few hours. The druggies he gave to the Coast Guard, or if they were inclined to set up shop, his pets.
Tiffany was a rare treat; within seconds of stepping ashore, her face was on Porneau's monitors. A few taps on the keyboard conjured up her driver's license, birth certificate, college diploma, and Facebook profile. "What's this girl doing wasting her time as a reporter?" he asked, "She belongs in Playboy or Penthouse."
Porneau watched Tiffany wander around the grounds. The house was secure; Porneau had the place sealed tight after his accident. She went to the back aaand, "Oooo, she's found the poolhouse." Porneau's cameras followed the girl, "Come on! Come on! Go in! Yes!"
He switched to the pool's cameras and watched her approach the water, "Oh boy. Is she going to take a swim?" The water was special; a little concoction between him and one of his pets. It was a genetic brew with aphrodisiac properties.
Originally he had plans to market it as a perfume additive, "It's no more harmful than whale puke." The accident disrupted those plans. "Oh! She's going in!" He zoomed on the blonde; she stepped into the water. "Oooo! This is going to be good," he thought, licking his lips.
Porneau's accident may have changed his body somewhat, but he was still a red-blooded American male. He never minced words about his admiration for female anatomy. Even before the accident, people were shocked by his crude, blunt, vernacular. They expected a genius, not an overgrown fratboy. "I am a genius, so I can act like an overgrown fratboy," Porneau replied.
Porneau jolted when Tiffany gasped at the water's touch. "Ah boy, it's up to her pussy. Come on, a little further." When the water was up to her chest, Tiffany's nipples perked. Porneau switched to the underwater cameras. He saw how they stood out in the fabric of her bikini bra. She had wide half-dollar areolas, "Damn! She is hot!"
Porneau took his cock and began to stroke. His accident left him unable to wear pants; he didn't even need lubricant for related reasons. He watched the blonde move through the water, timing his strokes to hers. She broke the surface and orgasmed; he matched it with a blast from his prodigious member.
"Oh man," he thought, thankful he had the foresight to point away from the monitors. He pressed the button for the autocleaner (a gift from his technologically gifted counterpart), "You're going to be busy tonight," he told it.
The curvy blonde splashed ashore. She sat for a few moments, quivering, muttering. "Ah, she's trying to figure the water out." She stood and started towards the door, "Uh uh! We can't have that. I want this honey to stay awhile."
Porneau's finger hovered near a switch, but wait! The girl stopped. "What's she doing?" Tiffany walked back towards the water, a pensive look on her face. She looked around the hall, then at the pool. A decision was made; she reached behind her back, "Oh no! She's not going to do it, is she?!"
Porneau was drooling; his wish (and the aforementioned editor's) was confirmed as Tiffany untied the bikini bra, freeing those wondrous melons, "Yes!" and then the bottoms. Porneau zoomed on the crotch, "Dark muff, not too bushy, I like that."
The girl ran back into the water and began to play. Porneau's cameras showed every curve, captured every move, from the water-influenced conical tits to her spread legs. He saw her pussy, swollen with water-induced lust, and made a decision of his own, "That does it! I'm bringing out Roger."
Porneau's career as a government-connected mad scientist was not without hiccups. The accident responsible for his altered condition was a prime example. When it occurred, the government wanted to move him to a secret research facility in Nevada. He'd been to the lab before, on business. It was a shithole.
