Chapter 1: Midnight Lab Intrusion
The hum of the centrifuge was the only sound keeping me company. It was a steady, rhythmic whir that vibrated through the soles of my shoes, a familiar comfort in the otherwise silent, cavernous lab. I was the last one there, as usual, cross-referencing gene sequences on my monitor. The blue light was the brightest thing in the room, casting long, distorted shadows from the shelves of beakers and the silent specters of microscopes. The air smelled clean, sharp with the ghost of ethanol and a faint, coppery tang from the morning’s cell cultures.
The heavy door swung open with a groan, disrupting the sterile quiet.
I knew it was Kate before I even turned. The click-clack of her heels on the linoleum was too purposeful, even if the steps were a little unsteady. She stood silhouetted in the doorway for a moment, the hallway light framing her like a star about to burn out.
“James. You’re here.” Her words were slightly slurred, woven together with the distinct, sweet-sour scent of tequila.
“It is my lab,” I said, turning back to my screen. “You, on the other hand, look like you’re supposed to be at a club.”
She moved into the glow of my monitor. Her cocktail dress was a slip of black silk, riding high on her thighs. Her blonde hair was mussed, and her makeup was smudged, giving her a raccoonish, endearing quality. She leaned against my lab bench, her hip nudging a stack of petri dishes. I instinctively shot a hand out to steady them.
“I was. It was boring. Then I remembered.” She gave me a lopsided smile. “I need help with an experiment.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Kate, it’s one in the morning. And you’re drunk. Go home.”
“No, listen.” She pushed off the bench and swayed into my personal space, her warmth pressing against the cool, conditioned air. “A real one. Not for class. A personal inquiry.”
Her eyes, a bright, lucid blue despite the alcohol, were fixed on me with an unnerving intensity. She placed a hand flat on my chest. I could feel the beat of my own heart under her palm.
“What kind of inquiry?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
“The kind that requires a control subject.” Her fingers curled slightly, clutching the fabric of my shirt. “And a very hands-on experimental approach.”
This was a bad idea. We were colleagues. Friendly, but not close. We joked about each other's failed PCRs and shared pizza during late nights, but this was a line, glowing red and hot, that we’d never approached. Yet, the lab was empty, the world outside was asleep, and she was here, warm and willing and smelling of salt and lime.
I stood up. The movement was sudden, and she stumbled back a step with a small, surprised gasp. I reached out to catch her, my hands finding her hips. I meant to just steady her, but my grip was… different. Since that strange transaction with Eva, everything felt different. Stronger. More precise.
My fingers pressed into the soft skin above her hip bones, and I heard her sharp intake of breath. I tried to loosen my hold, but it was like the feedback was delayed.
“James,” she breathed out, and it wasn’t a protest. It was a moan, low and throaty.
That sound unspooled something in me. I walked her back, my steps deliberate, until the small of her back met the cold, vibrating metal of the centrifuge. The machine hummed against her, a steady thrum that I felt through my hands. She looked up at me, her eyes wide, pupils swallowing the blue.
With one hand still holding her hip, I reached past her to brace myself against the machine. My arm brushed against a rack of freshly prepared test tubes on the counter. They wobbled, a crystalline teetering, and then cascaded to the floor.
The shatter was explosive. Glass skittered across the linoleum, a sudden, violent percussion to the centrifuge's relentless drone. A clear, viscous solution pooled around our feet, smelling sharply of buffer solution.
We both froze, staring at the glittering wreckage.
Then Kate started to laugh, a real, unhinged giggle that shook her whole body. “So much for sterile conditions.”
I looked down at my hands, still on her. In the unforgiving fluorescent light I now saw them clearly: faint, bruise-purple fingerprints were already blooming on the pale skin of her hips. A perfect, damning imprint of my new strength.
I snatched my hands away as if burned. “Shit. Kate, I’m— I didn’t mean to…”
Her kiss cut through my stammering like a blade through silk. One moment I was staring at those bruise-purple imprints on her hips, horror curdling in my gut. The next, her fingers were tangled in my hair, yanking my head down to meet hers, and her mouth was on mine.
She tasted like tequila and something sweeter, a lingering hint of the strawberry daiquiri she'd probably started the night with. Her lips were soft but insistent, parting against mine with a hungry little sound that vibrated straight through my chest. Her tongue swept across my lower lip, demanding entry, and I gave it to her without a second thought.
The kiss was sloppy and desperate and perfect. She was plastered against me, all that warm, silk-clad flesh pressing into my chest as she kissed me like she'd been thinking about it for months. Maybe she had. Maybe those late-night jokes about my failed agarose gels had been something else entirely.
"Kate," I managed, pulling back just enough to breathe. My voice came out rough, alien to my own ears. "You're drunk. This is..."
"Shut up, James." She pulled me back in, her teeth catching my lower lip hard enough to sting. "I've wanted this. Wanted you. Every time you'd lean over my bench to check my blots, and your shirt would ride up just a little, and I'd have to squeeze my thighs together to keep from moaning out loud."
My cock was already straining against my jeans, a hard, painful ache that had nothing to do with my new powers. Having her grind up against me was almost too much. I could feel the heat of her through the flimsy black silk of her dress, the damp heat of her cunt pressing against my thigh as she moved against me.
"How long?" I asked, my hands finding her ass, cupping the full, round flesh through that slip of fabric. Her dress had ridden up even higher, exposing the tops of her thighs and the black lace edge of her panties.
"Since the Stark conference." She nipped at my jaw, her breath hot and sharp against my skin. "You got shitfaced on the free wine and tried to explain the entire mitochondrial electron transport chain to a potted plant. It was the hottest thing I'd ever seen."
I laughed, the sound broken and splintered. Then I was walking her backward, pinning her against the centrifuge again, and this time I didn't let go. The machine vibrated against her back, a deep hum that shook through us both, and she gasped as I pressed my cock against her, letting her feel exactly how hard she'd made me.
"Fuck, James." She arched into me, her head falling back against the cold metal. "That's a real experiment. Testing the structural integrity of my underwear."
I slid my hands up her thighs, pushing the dress higher. Black lace panties, the kind that cost too much and covered too little. The fabric was already soaked through, a dark stain spreading across the crotch, and when I dragged my thumb across the seam, she bucked against my hand.
"Jesus, Kate. You're dripping."
"Been thinking about this all night." Her hips rolled against my hand, seeking friction. "Every time I took a shot, I imagined it was your cock."
I hooked my fingers around the edge of her panties and pulled them aside. Her cunt was glistening, slick and swollen, her clit peeking out from its hood, begging for attention. I didn't give it to her. Not yet.
Before I could touch her clit, I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed. She went down without resistance, her knees hitting the slick floor with a soft thud, glass crunching beneath her. She looked up at me from between my legs, her blonde hair a messy halo around her face, her blue eyes blown wide and dark with hunger.
"James," she breathed, her voice thick. "What are you going to do to me?"
I unfastened my jeans, the zipper loud in the quiet lab. My cock sprang free, hard and aching, the head slick with pre-cum. I wrapped my hand around the base and gave it a slow stroke, watching her watch me.
Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips.
"This is the experiment," I said, stepping closer. "Testing how much you can take."
I lifted my cock and tapped it gently against her cheek. She flinched, then laughed, that unhinged giggle again. The head left a slick smear across her skin, catching the dim light.
"Fuck," she whispered.
I drew back and whipped it across her face again, a little harder this time. The weight of it slapped against her mouth, her nose, leaving a trail of pre-cum across her flushed skin. Her breath hitched, and I saw her thighs clench together beneath the bunched-up dress.
"You like that?" I asked.
"More," she said, her voice breaking.
I gave her what she wanted. Slow, deliberate strokes of my cock against her face, painting her cheeks, her lips, her chin with my slickness. She tilted her head back, exposing her throat, taking it. Her hands came up to grip my thighs, her nails digging into the denim through my jeans.
"Open your mouth," I said.
She did. Her lips parted, and I rested the weight of my cock on her tongue, just the head, letting her feel it there. She didn't close her mouth. She just looked up at me, patient, waiting, desperate.
I could have pushed deeper. She would have taken it. But I wanted to draw this out, to see how much she would beg.
"Please," she whimpered, the word muffled around the tip.
I pulled back, slapping my cock against her lips once, twice, three times, each strike leaving a wet smack that echoed in the quiet room. Her mouth fell open again, and this time I pushed in, just a little, just enough to feel the velvet heat of her tongue curling around the head.
Her eyes fluttered closed. A low, guttural moan vibrated through my cock and straight into my spine.
I held her there, one fist tangled in her hair, guiding her through the first few slow, shallow thrusts. She took them greedily, her throat working, her spit slicking my shaft until it gleamed. The centrifuge hummed behind me, indifferent, and the shattered glass glittered at our feet like a constellation of fucked-up choices.
"Look at me," I said.
She blinked up at me, her pupils huge, her lips swollen and red. A line of spit stretched from her mouth to the head of my cock when I pulled out.
"I want to hear you say it," I told her. "Tell me what you are right now."
"I'm your experiment," she said, her voice wrecked and raw. "Use me."
"You're my experiment," she repeated, the words dripping with a desperate kind of reverence that made my cock twitch against her lips. "Use me, James. Please."
I didn't need to be told twice.
I fisted my hand in her blonde hair, twisting the strands until she gasped, and guided her mouth back onto my cock. She took me willingly, her lips stretching around the head as I pushed past them, inch by inch. Her tongue was hot and wet, curling along the underside of my shaft, and she moaned around me as I sank deeper.
"Fuck, Kate," I breathed, watching her. "Just like that."
She looked up at me, those blue eyes watering but fixed on mine. She was taking me down her throat now, her nose brushing against my belly, her hands gripping my thighs hard enough to leave half-moons in the denim. The sounds she made were obscene, wet and guttural, echoing in the silent lab.
I set a rhythm. Slow at first, letting her acclimate, then faster, driving deeper. Her throat spasmed around the head of my cock, and I felt her gag, but she didn't pull away. She just took it, tears spilling down her cheeks, her mascara leaving dark tracks across her skin.
"Good girl," I grunted, the words falling out before I could stop them.
She whimpered around my shaft and it vibrated straight into my spine, making my balls tighten. I pulled out, just the head remaining between her lips, and she chased it, her mouth following me, desperate for more. I let her have it, thrusting back in, burying myself to the root and holding there while she fought to breathe.
Her hands came up, wrapping around the base of my cock, stroking what her mouth couldn't reach. She worked me in tandem, her fingers slick with her own spit, her thumb pressing against the sensitive ridge just under the head. It was too much and not enough.
"Look at me," I said, my voice tight.
She blinked up at me, tear-streaked, ruined, magnificent. Her hand kept stroking, slow and deliberate, while her mouth hollowed and sucked.
"You like being used like this?" I asked.
She nodded as much as she could with my cock in her throat.
"Then keep going."
I pulled out just enough to let her breathe, and she gasped, a thin strand of spit connecting her lips to my cock. She didn't wait for permission. She dove back in, her hand still wrapped around the base, matching my thrusts with the rhythm of her strokes. The wet sounds of her sucking filled the lab, punctuated by the steady hum of the centrifuge.
Her mouth was a furnace, wet and tight, pulling me deeper with every bob of her head. The centrifuge hummed its steady drone behind me, and the glass glittered at our feet, but all I could see was her, blonde hair fisted in my grip, mascara streaking down her cheeks as she worked my cock like she was starving for it.
"Fuck," I grunted, my hips starting to move faster, driving deeper into her throat. "Kate, I'm close."
She didn't pull away. If anything, she doubled down, her hand stroking the base faster, her throat relaxing to take me all the way to the root. Her eyes were watering now, tears spilling freely down her flushed cheeks, but she held my gaze, demanding.
I pulled her off with a wet pop, her lips swollen and slick. A thick string of spit connected her mouth to the head of my cock, shining in the blue-tinted lab light. She gasped, chest heaving, her hand still wrapped around my shaft, stroking slow and deliberate.
"Please," she rasped, her voice wrecked. "James, please. I want it. I want your cum."
"You want it?" I asked, my voice tight, my balls aching, drawn up hard against my body.
"Yes. Fuck, yes. Give it to me. I want it in my mouth, I want to taste you, I want to swallow every fucking drop."
Her words broke something in me. I fisted my hand in her hair and pulled her forward, holding her steady. "Open your mouth. Tongue out."
She obeyed instantly, her jaw dropping wide, her pink tongue extended flat and waiting. Her eyes were locked on mine, desperate, hungry, reverent. She looked like a woman at prayer, kneeling in the wreckage of shattered glass, waiting for communion.
My hand moved on my cock, fast and tight, the slickness of her spit making it easy. I could feel the pressure building, the heat coiling at the base of my spine, my balls tightening almost painfully.
"Holy shit," I breathed, stroking harder, faster. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"Show me," she said, her voice a broken whimper. "Give it to me, James. I can take it. I can take everything."
That was it. My hips bucked and I came, a heavy, thick load exploding from my cock, the first rope splashing across her tongue, coating it white. She didn't flinch. She held her mouth open, her eyes shining, taking it. The second shot hit the back of her throat, the third splattered across her lips and cheek, the fourth flooding her open mouth until it overflowed, dripping down her chin and onto her ruined dress.
I kept stroking, wringing out every last drop, my cock twitching against her lips as the final spurts painted her tongue. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding in my ears, drowning out the centrifuge.
She closed her mouth, showing me the cum pooled on her tongue, thick and white. Then she swallowed, a visible, convulsive motion of her throat, and opened her mouth again to show me it was empty.
"More," she whispered, licking her lips. "Give me more."