The Bullpen Ch. 02

David leaned forward, into the scene, and tucked a wad of cash into Erica's tank top, now no more than a belt crumpled around her midsection. "There's twenty-three dollars there," he explained as he unlocked her right handcuff. "I was going to give you the full fifty, but you seem to be getting payment enough of another form."

She was a stripper, collecting wads of cash.

No, she was a cheap prostitute, selling her body to David and Julie for twenty-three dollars.

No, she thought. She was an addict. A sex addict. The money was trivial. The money was nothing. She was letting a room full of close friends and acquaintances watch her be eaten out, solely for the orgasm. The orgasm that, as she locked eyes with Jenny Brodie, she was about to finally achieve.

The handcuff still dangling around her right wrist, but free from the futon frame, Erica pulled Julie's face tighter, into her pussy. She was desperate. She was hornier than she had ever been.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

"Fuck," she mumbled again. "Fuuuuck…"

She wasn't seated on her futon in Pasadena any longer. The audience had faded away. Her top, as useless as it had been, had disappeared. Julie Coogan didn't have her head in her lap any longer.

Erica Rivers had aged eleven years in a matter of seconds, but her arousal hadn't dissipated. She had gone from her dorm room at Cal Tech to her temporary prison at ConnPharm. But her hands were now free, and Erica wasted no time in trying to finish was Julie and David had started.

Her fingers were on her pussy in no time, finding it more wet than Erica could recall it ever being. Two fingers, her middle and her ring, slipped effortlessly inside of her, and her palm ground down on her clitoris. She was panting, lying flat on her back in the Bullpen, and writhing in unbelievable gratification. It was only as she turned her head, still half-expecting to see Sergei Kuptchencko jacking off on her dorm room bed, that Erica began to remember where she was.

Her reflection in the mirror glass scared her. She was drenched in sweat. Her short black hair stuck to her face. And, as if an animal in heat, she was thrashing against her own hand, thrusting her hips against an imaginary partner's face.

"She's humping like a bitch in heat."

With a sudden jerk, Erica yanked her hand away from her groin. She was in the Bullpen. She was at ConnPharm. Her every move was being recorded. There was someone on the far side of that mirror glass.

Erica had no idea what time it was, but the light cycle in the Bullpen indicated that it was still night, which meant that it was either Tessa or Wendy on duty.

Please, Erica begged a higher power, let it be Tessa.

"Erica?" Wendy's voice half-giggled over the loudspeaker.

"Fuck," Erica sighed under her breath.

Obviously, not quite quiet enough. "Fuck indeed," Wendy responded.

There was a pause.

"Another dream?"

Erica rolled up onto her knees and to her feet. She needed a drink of water.

"Erica?"

"Can you just turn on the water, please?"

Another pause.

"One cold shower, coming up," Wendy responded.

It wasn't exactly what Erica had had in mind, but she had to admit that it wasn't a bad idea. Once again, she had failed to find a release in her dreams. And this time, she had apparently attempted to take the matter into her own hands in her waking world. Literally.

The full brightness of the Bullpen's lighting flickered on, as did a gentle stream of cold water from the ceiling. Without hesitation, Erica stepped beneath it, with her mouth wide open for a drink.

It was frigid, but it gave Erica a chance to reflect on what had just happened. Half awake, she had begun to masturbate on the floor of the Bullpen….while Wendy watched.

The deuterotone. Erica's hormones were in complete disarray, the compound stimulating her in the same way that a testosterone treatment might. Or, perhaps, more so. Increased libido was ordinary – Erica had read all about it in the run-up to her experiment. Women undergoing testosterone therapy reported higher incidents of sexual activity. They fantasized more. They had sex more. They masturbated more.

But Erica hadn't read a single article that mentioned masturbating while asleep.

Maybe the deuterotone was having a stronger affect on her than a typical testosterone treatment might?

Or maybe it was her. Erica shuddered as she remembered how turned on she had become in her dream by the thought of being a stripper. Or a prostitute. Or an orgasm-starved sex junkie.

As Natalie had suggested, maybe it had more to do with Erica's own hidden fantasies and psychoses than it had to do with the manufactured hormones.

The shower trickled to a stop at Erica's request, and the warm fans embedded within the wall quickly dried her off.

As the naked girl wrung the water out of her short black hair, Wendy's face blinked on across the Bullpen. Over the projector, as bluntly as usual, the blonde pointed out, "You are going to cum so hard when you finally get out there."

"Excuse me?" Erica asked in disbelief. She couldn't believe that this woman would even talk like this to her.

"My last boyfriend liked to tease me and leave me," Wendy continued, obviously not catching the tone in the guinea pig's voice. "He'd get me all worked up, and then just leave me to stew in my own juices for a while."

"I really don't want to talk about –"

"I'm just saying," the technician interrupted, sounding somewhat indignant. After all, she was sharing. She didn't have to. She thought that she was bonding with Erica. "When you finally get out of here, you're going to be so worked up that it's probably going to be the best orgasm of your life."

Silence.

"What was it about this time? Tom again?"

Erica rolled her eyes. Looking to change the subject, she asked, "What time is it?"

"Twelve-thirty. Tessa will be here in a half hour or so."

Thank god, Erica thought to herself. No more heart-to-heart.

"But the dream?" Wendy asked.

"It's none of your business," the black-haired girl responded, annoyed. This girl was a technician. A babysitter for the Bullpen, not for Erica herself. What did Erica's dreams have to do with her, anyways?

"It must have been a good one, though," the girl chuckled.

"Look, Wendy, I really think that it's a little inappropriate for you to – "

"You're really going to go five weeks without getting yourself off?"

The crudeness of the question stopped Erica silent.

Wendy picked up on Erica's discomfort, and ran with it. "Without rubbing your clit? Without clicking the mouse? Petting the kitty? Flicking the bean? Tickling your fancy?"

"You know, this whole thing is being recorded," the black haired girl called out.

"So? Fuck them," the technician responded. "Is that what you're afraid of? You've stripped yourself naked. You've spread your legs so that they can shoot you full of hormones. Your tits are what this experiment is all about anyways – don't kid yourself, we're not curing cancer here."

Erica bristled with rage. "Deuterotone will have a profound affect on women's confidence."

"So where's yours?"

"I'm done with this conversation," the nude girl responded. She waved goodbye to Wendy image on the Bullpen's wall, and then again through the mirror glass. "Shut off the projector and let me go back to sleep."

"So you can wake up in another three or four hours, panting and begging to cum?"

"I said I'm done."

"Fine." The image blinked out. The lights dimmed.

And Erica sighed, readying herself to go back to sleep.

But Wendy, obviously, wasn't quite done. Over the intercom, she ranted on, "It's natural. It's no more embarrassing than squatting over the drain to take a piss. It's no more embarrassing that us recording you on the toilet, either."

"Wendy!"

"It's natural! How many times have you watched one of the chimps in there play with himself? What about Trixie? How many times did you sit out here with me and watch that fucking monkey fuck herself?"

"They were animals!"

"So are you!"

"I've got self control," Erica growled.

"…says the woman who woke up tonight with her arm halfway up her twat."

"That's it. Call Colin right now. I want to talk to him. You are done here."

"Fuck off," was the only response.

Erica was completely powerless in her current situation. She couldn't storm out of the Bullpen, as the door was locked from the outside. She couldn't call Colin herself, or even someone else in the building. She was Wendy's toy, to be played with and tormented until Tessa arrived.

Her breasts heaving in anger, Erica dropped to the floor, rolling onto her side, and facing away from the Observation Room.

"I'm sorry," Wendy said after a few minutes, after Erica was sure the conversation was truly over.

"Fuck off," Erica mimicked.

"I just think it's a long time to be in there and not…"

"Are you some sort of dyke?" Erica screamed in frustration. Why Wendy would not drop this was beyond her, but Erica could help but feel a bit stung by her own insult. Only minutes ago, she'd had an intensely sexual dream about being eaten out by another woman.

"I'm just worried about you," Wendy replied.

"You're worried about me? You're worried about me? That's why you're badgering me about getting myself off in front of you? About 'petting my kitty'?"

"You're obviously not reaching your climax in the dreams. And you're certainly not reaching your climax in the real world, either. What with all your 'self-control' and all. I think if you keep going like this, it's just going to make the next three and half weeks that much harder."

"So now I'm some slut, who can't go five weeks without putting something into my pussy?"

"I'm not saying that, Erica," Wendy answered. She had calmed considerably from her earlier, more antagonistic tone. "You're on the hormones. It's obviously wreaking havoc on your libido, day and night. And it's not just me that has noticed your arousal – anyone at this desk, with this data, can see that the deuterotone is acting as some sort of aphrodisiac. The Bullpen is reading everything about your left leg, everything about your right leg, and everything about everything in between.

"No one's going to think less of you for relieving some of the tension."

Erica didn't respond. She pretended to fall asleep, but couldn't get her mind off of what Wendy had told her. They all knew. Colin. Tessa. Wendy. Noah. Natalie. All of her lab assistants.

For the past three days, and throughout the nights, she'd been walking around in a constant state of lust. And it was as simple as reading it off of a computer – the lubrication of her vagina, the tenseness of her muscles, the rate of her heartbeat, the blood flow to her nipples, and the swelling of her clitoris. She'd read the same charts and data when Trixie had been in the Bullpen.

So why wasn't she going to do something about it?

Yes, it would be embarrassing, but any more so than the humiliations she was already enduring day and day out?

And wasn't it natural? A part of life, like urinating or perspiring?

Erica shook her head. As she had explained to Wendy, she had self-control. And, hopefully, she thought to herself as she fell back asleep, she'd orgasm in her next dream.

***

Erica's breasts were already noticeably bigger by that second Friday. Aaron had confirmed that they were, indeed, twenty percent larger than they'd been just four days earlier, when the tingling in the girl's body had begun. Natalie, though, observed that Erica was still on the smaller side of a C-cup, and that there was still a long way to go before the deuterotone had completely run its course.

The girl could sense the difference in the weight, and could see it in her reflection. As she cupped her hands beneath to feel them for herself, Erica thought about how she'd always wished she could have bigger breasts. C's would have been fine. D's were probably going to be too much.

But it wasn't Erica's breasts that truly caught her attention. It was the rest of her, standing naked in front of the mirror glass, that got her concerned.

Erica Rivers, twenty-nine-years-old. She had a Ph.D. She had attended all the best schools – Cal Tech, Hopkins, MIT. She had studied under the world-renowned biochemist Dr. Vincent Rischmann. Ever since she'd left Valentine, Ohio behind, her life had been one success after another, one achievement after another. She was smart. She was driven.

And she was naked in a hold at ConnPharm.

Her short black hair had grown in some since Colin Eggert's quick chop-job last week, but it was in complete disarray that afternoon, a bird's nest perched upon the top of her head. Hair went every which way, some off to the side, some standing up in the front, and some plastered against her sweat-soaked forehead.

She had just woken up from a noontime nap, and the imprint from the tiles against her skin clearly showed that she had slept facedown, favoring her right side. The checkerboard pattern showed lightly on her right cheek, and all the way down her bare body.

Erica hadn't been able to concentrate all morning. She read and reread reports from her lab, but her dirty mind was playing dirty tricks on her. Every "as" was "ass." Every "percent" was "per cunt." Even the word "possible" tormented her, and Erica couldn't prevent her mind from wandering as she contemplated "pussy bells." She hadn't been able to think about anything but sex, about the wanton fantasies that her mind played out at night, never quite reaching that final release.

Instead of reviewing the organic reactions taking place in her own body, Erica found herself daydreaming about Tom, about their last night together. She was constantly adding new twists, new positions, and new toys, none of which were present that night in Tom's condo. Tom never would have gone for the handcuffs. A ball-gag in Erica's mouth? Far too deviant. And the seven or eight coworkers – male and female - that he had brought home from the office to watch them from around the room? No, not like Tom at all.

A nap had been in order, and Erica had gone to sleep just after lunch. Unfortunately, she awoke a few hours later even more scatter-brained than before, and her eyes, in her reflection, looked even more tired than they had this morning.

During her nap, Erica had dreamt that she was a hooker, fucking in exchange for a small bag of cocaine. Looking at herself in the mirror glass, Erica felt as if she'd probably go the other way around – she'd actually snort the cocaine if it meant that she could have a good fucking.

Her vagina seemed like it was on fire. She was aware of every move she made, the way her thighs moved back and forth so close to it. Her clit was pulsating rhythmically, throbbing torturously, and she couldn't remember the last point when she looked into the mirror and her nipples weren't standing fully erect. Her mouth was dry, but her pussy was wet, soaked from the time she awoke that morning.

Maybe it was just that she knew she couldn't have it? Maybe it was just that she knew she couldn't get herself off while her colleagues watched? If she had been receiving deuterotone injections at home, in the privacy of her own condo, Erica doubted she'd had sex on the brain as much as she had right now. She could've masturbated to her orgasm. She could've fucked Tom and gotten past the increased pseudo-testosterone. But here, with eyes and cameras on her at all times, Erica was forced to forego.

Had it only been one injection, after all of this? Had it only been five days since Hannah had pricked her with the needle? Had it only been twelve days, out of her total thirty-five day incarceration in the Bullpen?

Erica looked at herself in the mirror once more. She hadn't fallen completely to shit – she'd shaved her legs and armpits that morning in the Observation Room, and cleaned up the errant pubic hair around her pussy. The metal razor, obviously, could go nowhere near the Bullpen, so Erica had been forced to do all that while wearing her corset, standing in the large, clinical room, while Tessa watched from afar. Her tan was fading, however, after nearly two weeks without sunlight, and Erica realized that she was probably going to walk out of ConnPharm next month as pale as a vampire.

But her breasts were, indeed, bigger. And that meant that the science was working, that the deuterotone was inducing a false second puberty in her chest. Erica assured herself, as she took one last glance into her own desperate eyes, that the science made all of this worthwhile.

***

It didn't start purposefully. Erica didn't plan it, or think about for very long. To be honest, it was like the evening a few nights before, when she'd only half-mindedly begun to masturbate while wavering between her dream and the waking world.

It was only just past five o'clock on Saturday evening, but the changing of the guard had occurred, and Colin had gone home. Wendy had been relatively taciturn in the nights since she and Erica had exchanged words, though she had reminded the dark-haired girl that she wouldn't judge her if Erica finally caressed herself. Erica hadn't reported the fight to Colin or Noah, partly because she was embarrassed even bringing it up, but partly because Wendy's words resonated with her. They all saw how aroused Erica was. They all understood what the constant state of excitement was doing to her. They'd understand if they caught her touching herself.

It might have been easier if they were all faceless strangers, however, assorted and unknown people that she had been seeing in her dreams. The crowd was always there, the audience watching her every move and every gyration. If the people at ConnPharm were no ones, people she could put on a show for and then never see again, it might have been different.

But she'd been working with Noah Forsythe for nearly three years. And probably would continue to work with him for another three. Would they ever be able to move beyond past Noah watching Erica finger herself on the far side of the glass, the tall, awkward scientist watching with mouth open and a bag of popcorn in his hand?

Or Colin? Even without orgasming in front of him, would she ever be able to see him socially ever again? After all, she'd paraded around in the nude for him day after day. How would his wife feel? How would his wife look at her again? How would his wife react, knowing that Colin had watched Erica "tickle her fancy" at work?

Erica had made up her mind that she wouldn't do it. She couldn't do it. She'd put it out of her mind and try to get past how horny she'd become. Two weeks were almost up, and Erica had only three to go. She could make it.

But something about the warm water of the shower, or the slippery feel of her soap, or the soft sensation of touching her own skin as she washed, something put her over the edge.

Erica had only just finished exercising when Colin left for the day. He had helped her strip out of the corset, as the girl was unable to do so herself. Standing inches from the technician, Erica could feel his warm breath on her back and shoulders. The proximity to the man sent tingles up and down her body, and she could smell his aftershave. If it had been Tom, Erica wasn't sure if she'd have been able to control herself. And, as Colin finished unfastening the final latch to the corset, the girl was lost in her own world, daydreaming about being taken from behind by Tom. Or Colin. Or Tom from behind, and Colin in her mouth.

The male technician bid her goodnight the door to the Bullpen closed behind her, and the female technician said hello as she began the shower for the girl inside.

It began innocently enough. Erica ran her hands through her hair, feeling the warm water beat gently down against her scalp. Rivulets ran down her body, snaking across her soft skin, into her bellybutton and between her buttocks. She scrubbed her face with soap, still lost in her fantasy from earlier – she was standing, but bent ninety-degrees at the waist, with Tom thrusting into her from behind, Colin seated in front of her with his cock in her mouth. Each man held a firm grip, Tom on her hips, and Colin on the back of her head. All three were in the Bullpen, but the mirror glass had become ordinary glass, and an assembly of men and women in lab coats stood on the far side, watching the show unfold. Aaron. Takahashi. Vijay. Natalie. Hannah. Wendy. Noah. Forrester. They were taking notes on clipboards, making casual remarks and observations while Erica squirmed between the two men.