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|Biology Lab Sex Story:|
ADVANCED BIOLOGY LAB by Linda Loring I work as a technician in a health research laboratory. We end up handling some pretty scary stuff. A lot of the work we do has to do with AIDS, and we also have some defense contracts involving research into ways of counteracting biological warfare. All in all, we work with a good many substances no human should come in contact with, or even take a chance on breathing. Substances like that are handled in a special section of the laboratory. No one is allowed in the room when it's in use. Sealed containers are passed in through a sort of miniature air lock, and once the inner door of the lock is opened, the containers are opened and the contents moved around using special mechanical arms. The mechanical arms are manipulated from a control room. From the control room you can see into the lab through thick, airtight windows. You can't see into the control room from the lab, ordinarily, because the laboratory area is brightly lit while the control room is fairly dim. The whole set-up is amazingly high-tech. The eight mechanical arms can reach anywhere in the lab, and their "hands", each with a "thumb" and two "fingers", have tremendous strength but are also capable of precise movement, even in microscopic dimensions. Normally we manipulate the arms and their hands by putting our own hands into special glove-like fixtures and moving our own fingers the way we want their mechanical counterparts to move. Larger or smaller movements require separate controls, and a whole sequence of movements can be programmed into the computer, which then controls all movements. We can interrupt the computer's control if something unexpected happens, reposition things manually, and tell the computer to pick up right where it left off. There are six videotape cameras in the lab, and they can be directed to cover any part of the room from almost any angle. The special video recorders are in the control room, and when we need to make a presentation to someone outside the lab, signals from those recorders can be fed into a standard VCR and recorded in full color onto regular videotape. All of this equipment is, as I said, normally used to work with deadly viruses and other toxins. But, as I recently discovered, it can be put to other uses as well. The discovery took place late last Saturday night. I'd been working on an experiment using several laboratory rats. It wasn't my job to give them food and water, but the weekend staff sometimes "forgets" to take care of the animals in the contagion room. My rats were already pretty weak, and if they went all weekend without food and water, they'd probably be dead by Monday morning, and I'd have to start the experiment over from the beginning. I'd fretted about the rats all day, and finally, after coming out of a late movie a little before midnight, I decided to go over to the lab and check on them myself. I pulled into the parking lot behind the lab, noticing absently that there was another car parked down at the end of the dark lot. I did a double take when I recognized the car - it was one of those little Mazda two-seater jobs, and it belonged Kristin, a/k/a the "ice queen". Kristin was the newest of the research biologists, having come to work at the lab only two months earlier. She was a real whiz with the computer system that controlled the mechanical arms in the contagion room, but that wasn't the attribute she was best known for. The severe clothes she wore couldn't hide the fact that she was really stacked, and I had to admit that her pale blonde hair and her face weren't bad either. All of us females in the lab, researchers and technicians alike, were jealous of the way the men had drooled over her at first, but from what I'd heard, none of them had been able to get to first base with her. That was why some of them had begun referring to her as the "ice queen". Usually when one of the women's cars stayed in the lot all night one could infer that she was spending the night elsewhere, after a successful date with one of the men who worked in the lab. That seemed unlikely, from what I knew of Kristin's reputation, but I decided that her personal life wasn't any of my business anyway, and went inside. The outer door of the building used a regular key, and then I had to use first another key and then a specially coded magnetic card to get into the secure area of the lab. By the time I'd made it through the last door I was aware that the lights were on in the contagion room. That didn't surprise me a lot, because the weekend staff was often careless about the lights, too. Still, I was curious enough to slip into the darkened control room in order to see, without being seen, whether someone was in the C-Room, as we called it. Someone was there, all right, and the sight just about blew my mind! Kristin lay on her back on one of the work counters, totally nude, her clothing in a pile on the floor. That would have been astounding enough, but what made the scene really incredible was that the "fingers" on one of the mechanical arms were fondling one of her breasts while those on a second arm were busy admidst the pale hair between her legs! Incredulous at what I was seeing, I sat down to watch. The computer beside me was on and the screen indicated that it was in the "engaged" mode, which meant it was controlling the mechanical devices in the C-Room. Kristin had obviously done a little extra-curricular programming, and from what I could tell she seemed to have done a very good job! I couldn't hear anything from the next room, but Kristin's head and body were in constant motion as the mechanical digits caressed first one breast and then the other, pulled gently at her engorged nipples, and glided easily in and out of the dark slit that was only half- hidden by her silky pubic hair. I stood up quietly and slipped a blank tape into the VCR. I didn't know what I might do with the tape, but the way my own juices were starting to flow, I suspected that I was going to want to watch this scene again - in living color, no less! It was while I was loading the tape that I noticed a third mechanical arm. It was motionless now, but Kristin plainly didn't expect it to remain so, because its padded fingers were clamped around the base of the largest dildo I'd ever seen! For some reason the sight of that dildo really pissed me off. I can't explain exactly why it bothered me so much, but here was a woman with the most perfect body I'd ever seen, or even imagined, who could have any man she even looked at. But instead of taking any of the offers she'd had, she constructed her perfect mechanical lover, and now she was waiting for it to fuck her! If she were really ugly, maybe I could accept what she was doing. For Kristin to do it, though, seemed like a gesture of contempt for the rest of us, who had to settle for mortal lovers and their fragile egos, their clumsy foreplay, their sweaty bodies and their ordinary-sized cocks that so often had to be coaxed laboriously to life. I decided to retaliate. Without any definite plan in mind, I switched on the video monitor in the control room, so I could see and hear what was being recorded on the video tape, and disengaged the computer. Kristin looked surprised as the magic fingers stopped their kneading and probing, and then astonished as the hand that had been toying with her pussy moved up to her waist. Astonishment gave way to alarm as I used the arm to roll her onto her stomach. She began to struggle, making incoherent sounds, but I pushed two of the mechanical hands into the small of her back to hold her in place on the flat counter. I hadn't decided what to do next, but the sight of her perfect ass, wiggling as she tried vainly to get her knees under her, gave me an idea. I spread the arms slightly and opened their fingers to grip Kristin firmly on either side of her narrow waist. With their immense strength the mechanical arms had no trouble lifting her off the counter. I swung her into the middle of the room, where she hung suspended by her middle about five feet off the floor, head down, boobs jutting, legs kicking and arms flailing helplessly. "Stop it", she yelled, "whoever you are! Put me down, now!" I offered no response as my eyes searched the C-Room for a suitable object. I found a perfect one on another work counter - a 50-centimeter scale. It was like a ruler except that it was made out of thick, clear plastic, twenty inches long, two inches wide and about a quarter of an inch thick. I activated the third arm - the one holding the dildo - and Kristin, looking upside down between her legs, must have seen it move, because she started screaming and kicking wildly. "No! Don't you dare touch me with that!", she shrieked. She relaxed a little when she realized the arm was moving past her. I fully intended to make use of the dildo, but not just yet. Opening the mechanical fingers, I dropped the dildo on the counter and picked up the plastic scale. It took a little maneuvering to get the hand to hold the scale properly, clutching it near the end and locking the fingers so that a minor flick of the mechanical "wrist" imparted considerable speed and momentum to the heavy scale. Then I moved the arm into position behind and slightly to the side of Kristin's creamy white ass. All I knew about spanking I'd learned as a child, bent over the edge of the kitchen table while my mother applied a yardstick to the seat of my jeans or, on a few occasions, to my bared bottom. That had taught me that spankings were both painful and humiliating, and those were precisely the sensations I wanted the ice queen to experience. I gave the mechanical wrist an experimental flick, and was rewarded with a sharp yelp of pain through the control room speaker. The plastic scale had landed on the left cheek of Kristin's ass, but it hadn't bounced away as I thought it would have if I'd been holding the scale in my own hand. I tried a lighter touch, but it was evidently too light, because Kristin didn't make a sound. In a matter of minutes, though, I became quite adept, if I say so myself. Each swing of the makeshift paddle resulted in a satisfying yell from Kristin and left another pink blotch on the silky skin of her bottom. I picked up the tempo as I became more confident, and let the scale wander over the backs of her thighs as well as her ass. In almost no time the ice queen was sobbing and begging for the paddling to stop. She hadn't been spanked as a child, I guessed, or she'd have more endurance. I responded to her pleas with a blistering flurry of smacks that really covered the target area and had Kristin kicking and screaming. Any effort she might have made earlier to keep her legs closed was abandoned, and the video camera had perfect view of her wet beaver - though it couldn't have been as wet as mine was! Then I moved the arm over to the other work surface and laid the scale carefully on the edge of the counter. I picked up the gross-looking dildo and began moving the arm back toward Kristin. She saw it coming and began shrieking in protest again. I decided that I enjoyed being the spanker instead of the spankee enough that I could let Kristin decide when she preferred the dildo to the paddle. I dropped the dildo, picked up the plastic scale, and resumed my attack on that perfectly shaped ass. By that time I was becoming a real virtuoso, and the feeling between my legs was leading me to think that I should take up bare-bottom spanking as a serious hobby, if not a full- time profession. Kristin yelled and begged as I peppered her immobilized butt and flailing thighs with dozens of stinging blows. Once her ass and the backs of her thighs had turned a nearly uniform shade of crimson, I stopped the spanking and exchanged the scale for the dildo again. Again Kristin protested when she the saw the mechanical fingers grasp the plastic cock, but when I put it down and moved toward the scale, she quickly said "No, no more of that, don't hit me any more!" She said nothing as I moved the dildo slowly toward her. The camera had a clear view of Kristin's pussy but I didn't, so I halted the arm carrying the dildo a couple of feet away from her, and used the other robot arms to turn her until she was facing almost directly away from me. Then I had to move the camera so that it had essentially the same view I did, and zoomed it to provide a close-up shot. I wondered suddenly, as I swung the third arm around and thrust the flesh-colored dildo toward Kristin's glistening cuntlips, if this was how a man felt as he prepared to shove his dick into a woman's waiting pussy. Too bad, I thought, that the mechanical appendages had no nerves; it would have been a blast to feel what a man feels at the moment of entry. Kristin groaned as I touched the tip of the dildo against the outer lips of her pussy. I increased the pressure, watching in fascination as her clitoris flattened and her lips spread to surround the enormous phallus. I pushed harder, and Kristin gave a sharp cry as two inches of the ribbed dildo sank out of sight. By that time, I was sure, the latex-covered plastic was well into her vagina, and I must have the angle about right or she'd be screaming her head off. My own pussy convulsed with envy as I gave the control a shove and buried another seven inches of artificial cock in the ice queen. The moan that came through the speaker didn't sound much like pain. I pulled the dildo back several inches and pushed it in again. The movement required almost no effort, and I marveled at how quickly Kristin had adapted to an object of that size. I started stroking in and out, wishing again that the dildo had nerves and could somehow transmit to me the sensations it was feeling. I wondered if any man had ever been inside the ice queen to feel those sensations. That thought resurrected some of my earlier anger, and I decided that I'd be damned if I was going to stand there fucking some woman who thought she was too good to get screwed by a flesh and blood man - especially when I had a nice vibrator at home that I'd been neglecting lately. I stopped thrusting with the dildo, which provoked little whimpers from my colleague in the next room, and quickly programmed the computer to continue with a four-inch back-and-forth stroke, along the same axis, for another fifteen minutes, then to withdraw the third arm, lower the other two near the floor, and separate them. Fifteen minutes would be plenty of time for the ice queen to get her rocks off a time or ten, and then to start imagining the scene the next morning when the weekend crew came in and found her suspended naked and being humped continuously by computer-controlled device that only she knew how to program. It would also give me plenty of time to get out of the building and several miles away before a much-relieved biologist could start trying to identify her unknown tormentor. I let the VCR record the first gasps of ecstasy, then popped the tape out and slipped it into my purse. I left the recorder on, so Kristin would know she'd been on candid camera, and hurried out to my car. I could check on my mice the next day. Kristin cleaned up well; there was no sign of her nighttime adventure when I went by the lab about noon the next day, although I did notice that the plastic scale was nowhere to be found. My mice had been fed and watered, and were doing as well as could be expected, considering the stuff I'd injected into them. The first item on the agenda at our staff meeting on Monday morning was an announcement that Kristin had resigned. No one knew just why, but the director wished her well, in absentia, in whatever her new endeavors might be. And I've decided to learn everything there is to know about programming the computer that controls the mechanical arms in the C-Room. The vibrator was comforting, but I've thought of some experiments I might like to conduct here, late some Saturday night.
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