The tall, dark man with the pencil-thin mustache took Marcy McCall by the hand and led her across the sidewalk to his waiting limousine. "We will go to my laboratory now," Dr. Dirk Villiers said.
Marcy nodded and followed him obediently. It had been an order, not a request, and from now on she had no choice but to do as this self-styled scientist told her to. Not five minutes ago she had signed away her right of free choice, her privacy, and her freedom.
As soon as they were seated in the rear of the car, Dr. Villiers spoke to the driver and then turned his piercing black eyes back to the girl beside him.
"There now," he said, settling himself comfortably, "we are alone."
"Are we?" Marcy asked, glancing at the chauffeur's reflection in the rear view mirror.
"Yes, quite alone," Villiers said. "Forget Monty. He'll be much too busy with the traffic to pay attention to us."
His hand moved quickly, opening Marcy's blouse and pushing aside her bra to bare her large, creamy breasts. Then he sat looking at the twin mounds, tipped with puckery, coral-pink nipples, as though considering a deep philosophical question. Marcy made no move to cover herself. She was too stunned by the events of the last few days to react with her usual virginal fear. Besides, it would be useless to protest or try to deny this man anything. She was his to do with as he pleased for as long as it took him to conclude the experiments he had planned.
Dr. Villiers' big hands came up to cradle her breasts. He toyed with the perky peaks until they hardened, then squeezed them between thumb and forefinger. When she didn't respond in any way, he sank his fingertips into the firm white flesh and tightened his grip until she gasped with pain. Then he laughed and released her.
"Big, firm and resilient," he commented. "They should be just about right for several projects I've been putting off for lack of a suitable subject."
Marcy said nothing, but when one of his hands snaked under her skirt, pushed aside the crotch of her panties, and touched the hairy triangle between her thighs, she sucked in her breath sharply.
His fingers opened the sensitive lips of her sex and moved inside them.
"What – what are you doing?" she asked, squirming uneasily.
"Just testing, my dear," Dr. Villiers said. "Making sure you have the kind of cunt I require for my research."
"What is the research for?" She noted with embarrassment that her thighs were flexing involuntarily around his wrist.
He chuckled. "Let's say I'm writing a monograph entitled Sixty Variations on Conventional Sex Practices as Performed by a Willing Virgin. You are willing, aren't you, my dear?"
In spite of her firm intention not to show any emotion, Marcy couldn't keep her breathing from speeding up as those arrogant fingers violated her most intimate parts. She could feel them deep in the well of her cunt, shoving in and out between the tight lips, massaging the delicate membranes.
"Yes, I'm willing," she heard herself say. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. Anything – it doesn't matter. If you want it, I'll do it with you."
"With me and with anyone else I command you to," Villiers said. "If I tell you, 'Fuck that man,' or 'Eat that woman's cunt,' or 'Suck that man while his partner fucks you,' you'll do it! Do you understand?"
Marcy shut her eyes and nodded. Yesterday the very use of such words would have offended her deeply. She had never allowed such vulgarisms to be uttered in her presence. All sexual organs, male or female, had been "privates", and "fuck" was something she not only didn't do, but refused to think about. But now here she was, unable to keep the sound of the words from affecting her, any more than she could keep his fingers from stirring up a hot lather in the blonde-tressed furrow between her legs. Her nostrils flared as the musky fragrance of her own cunt juice drifted up to her. The scent seemed to fill the whole car, and she was sure the chauffeur could smell it too, although he kept his eyes straight ahead as he steered the expensive car across the Golden Gate Bridge into Mann County.
She moaned, and without meaning to, slid her hips forward on the seat, opening her thighs wider so Dr. Villiers could get another finger into her. Her naked breasts were rising and falling rapidly, the nipples hard and aching, and her panties were becoming soaked. "Please stop – stop!" she gasped.
"I never stop an experiment once I have started it, my dear," Dr. Villiers said in a calm, unhurried voice. "That would be bad manners as well as bad science. You must cum for me before I can stop."
"Oh, no – no!" she cried, flexing her legs and then spreading them wider. She was lying almost flat on the seat now, and looking up, she could see herself in the rear view mirror. Her skirt was up around her waist, her legs were spread wide, and her thick forest of pubic hair was in plain sight under her wet panties. The plump pink lips of her vulva were exposed, with the man's fingers in the center of them, pumping into her innermost recesses. She looked absolutely wanton, and if the driver happened to glance over his shoulder, he would see exactly what she was seeing.
Shame turned Marcy's face red. "Please – please, let me up!" she begged, but her buttocks were wriggling frantically, and she saw her hands come up to grasp Dr. Villiers' hand and try to force his fingers in deeper.
"Very passionate for a virgin," he observed, and leaned forward to suck the nearest coral-tipped breast into his mouth.
Marcy bucked like a wild thing, almost torn apart by the violent sensations that possessed her. He bit down on the nipple, and something inside her skyrocketed and burst into a thousand falling stars, while her vagina contracted sharply and sent fresh gushes of juice onto his hand.
When it was over, she lay back spent and uncaring, her legs still sprawled open and her cunt exposed. What had happened to her had never happened before, and she was startled and dismayed to find herself so susceptible to this man's will.
"Who are you?" she asked, turning her head to look up at him. "You're not really a doctor – you can't be."
"No, not the kind of doctor you mean," Dirk Villiers told her, sniffing at his fingers before wiping them on a clean linen handkerchief. "I'm a Ph.D., an anthropologist engaged in experiments in human sexual response. You, my dear, are the newest of my laboratory animals."
"I don't understand," Marcy said.
"You don't have to. Laboratory animals aren't expected to understand the nature of an experiment."
Fear cut through Marcy's trancelike apathy, and she sat up quickly. "Laboratory animals? Like the kind they cut up?"
Dr. Villiers smiled. "Oh, I shouldn't think we'll go that far. Vivisection won't be called for. One of the more interesting factors of the study of sex as science is that all experiments can be best performed on living, breathing creatures."
Marcy drew a deep breath of relief.
"Of course, I suppose there is some interest in the practice of necrophilia and…"
"Necro – what?" Marcy didn't know the word.
"Necrophilia. It means fucking a corpse, my dear," he explained matter-of-factly. "A rather esoteric predilection that…"
He stopped as Marcy turned chalk-white and looked as though she were about to faint. He patted her knee comfortingly. "Don't worry, my dear. Interesting as such a study might prove, we'd have difficulty obtaining subjects of either the fucker or fuckee persuasion." He chuckled at his macabre humor.
Marcy didn't think it was funny. As her terror receded, her puritan upbringing took over. "Must you always use those disgusting words?" she demanded.
"Scientific precision, my dear. We always try to use the shortest, most descriptive words to deal with a subject." He raised the damp handkerchief to his nose and sniffed appreciatively. "Mmmm, what a delightful blend of soap, talcum, and spicy cunt juice."
Marcy wrinkled her nose in distaste, and turned to stare out the window at the passing countryside. She needed to cairn her inner turmoil and get her thoughts in order. How odd it was that she should be sitting here in this car with a perfect stranger, letting him take her God only knew where. He said he had a laboratory at Tiburon, and she'd have to believe that since they were headed in that direction, but she had serious doubts as to the legitimacy of the research project he claimed to be conducting. However, she thought, if he were engaged in anything illegal, would the newspaper have published his ad? Probably. They were interested primarily in the fee, and not in what happened to anyone foolish enough to answer the ad. No, she couldn't blame the newspaper. She was the one who had answered the ad, drawn by its very bizarreness, and thinking it an answer to her prayer, a way out of her dilemma. Tucked away in the Personal columns, it had sounded like a joke, or a put-on.
WANTED: Virgin, 20-25, to, assist in sex research program. Will pay $20,000 for loss of certain intangibles and services rendered. Call Dr. Villiers at Embassy Hotel day or night.
Marcy sighed deeply. Yes, it had been her own doing. She had made the phone call. She had signed the papers agreeing to take part in the experiments and releasing Dr. Villiers from any responsibility for any damage she suffered, physically or psychically, as a result. But she had done it not for kicks or through a sense of adventure, but simply because she had been forced into it by circumstances beyond her control. If only she and Jimmy had never left the small Middle Western town they'd been born and raised in! If only they hadn't come to San Francisco! If only she hadn't gotten a job as a stenographer with the bond company of Price-Meehan, and then asked Personnel if they could use a seventeen-year-old boy as a messenger. If only – no, there was nothing to be gained in going over all that again. She'd been over it a hundred times already. The past was past, and she had to go on from here.
There was no way she could go back and change the fact that their mother and father had been killed in an automobile accident. Neither could she change the fact that she and her brother had used the insurance money that was left after the double funeral to escape from their grief and loneliness, and incidentally, the boredom of small-town life, by heading west to the glamour and excitement of California. No, she couldn't change that any more than she could change the fact that Jimmy had taken up with a young gang of thieves who had used him to gain access to one hundred thousand dollars worth of securities.
It was for Jimmy she was doing this. The company that had been robbed had generously offered to keep the boy out of the case if he would return the fifteen thousand which had been his share of the loot. Only Jimmy hadn't had the fifteen thousand to return. He'd lost it in a crooked dice game with his confederates.
Terrified of going to jail, Jimmy had begged Marcy to help him, and as she had all his life, his big sister had promised. She couldn't bear to see Jimmy suffer. She had been six when Jimmy was born, and had adored him from the moment Mother brought him home from the hospital. Entrusted with a great deal of responsibility for his care, she had petted and pampered and spoiled him. She had built her whole life around him, in spite of the protests and warnings from their parents and others. Well, it looked now as though they had been right and she'd been wrong.
At twenty-two she was still a virgin, and when she had come across that peculiar ad in the morning paper, it had seemed like a miracle. Her beloved brother was in danger, and if her virginity was a negotiable asset, she would use it to help him. Of course, she had never thought of it as negotiable until the very second her eye fell on that ad. She blushed even now to think she was actually selling herself, putting a price on her body. But how else could she raise twenty thousand dollars? She had paced the floor for hours trying to think of something, but had finally faced up to the bitter truth – there was no other way. She couldn't ask her fiance, Fred Ward. He was only a clerk in an office, with no more access to large sums of money than she had. Besides, if he knew it was for Jimmy, he'd refuse point blank. He was jealous of their closeness and rapport. He wanted her all to himself, and didn't want to share her with anyone, least of all Jimmy. He had even implied on occasion that there was something abnormal in their relationship, that maybe Marcy's refusal to allow him certain intimacies was caused by her fixation on her brother. No, Fred would be of no help, and there just wasn't anyone else she could call on. She either had to call the number given in the ad or tell Jimmy she had failed when he needed her most. Then he would have to face the consequences of his own act, and take whatever punishment was meted out. No, no, she couldn't do that. It was unthinkable! The thought of Jimmy in jail caused her such anguish that anything else was preferable.
And so the choice had been made. Marcy had made the phone call and set up the appointment with Dr. Dirk Villiers.
"We have arrived, my dear." Dr. Villiers' voice broke into her unhappy thoughts, and Marcy blinked and looked around.
They had stopped before a large, rambling house set well back from the street on extensive, beautifully landscaped grounds. It looked more like a luxurious mansion than a research laboratory. Marcy was more confused than ever. She had expected a building made of concrete and steel, an efficient, medical kind of place.
As though reading her mind, Dr. Villiers said, "Don't let the exterior mislead you, Marcy – or the interior either, for that matter. I have found that, unlike other experimental animals, human beings function best for my purpose in luxurious surroundings. And so, in the interest of science, I provide them. But please keep in mind that you are, first and last, a research tool and nothing more." He took a small notebook from his pocket and consulted it. "You are Laboratory Animal Number X-999, to be specific. Do you understand?"
Marcy lowered her eyes and nodded silently.
"Very good, my dear. Now let's go inside."
He helped her from the car, and Marcy followed him up to the house on legs that felt like rubber. Her heart was thudding with fear and something else something she couldn't quite identify, or didn't dare to.
As they stepped through the door into a luxuriously furnished entrance hall, a young couple came running eagerly to greet them. The young man was tall, slender, and handsome. His light auburn hair gleamed in the subdued light, and his bare chest above his tight white pants was tanned to a golden hue. The girl with him had a pretty, doll-like face, hair a little darker red than his, and skin like golden cream. She wore white velvet hot pants and a bolero to match, and her bare breasts bounced into view as she ran.
"Dr. Dirk, you have returned!" the young man said. "You have come back to direct our symphony of eroticism!"
"I am not conducting a symphony, Kyle," Dr. Villiers said. "You are taking part in a carefully coordinated, multi-faceted scientific investigation."
"I don't care what you call it," the young man said. "Karla and I have missed you. Deprived of your inspiration, our human potential has stagnated."
"Yes, Dirk, we really did miss you," Karla said, bending her head to kiss Villiers' hand. "This place has been very dull without you."
"A drag, a positive drag," Kyle agreed, putting his arms around the other man and trying to kiss him.
"Enough!" Dr. Villiers said, shaking them both off. "I have brought a new experimental subject. This is Marcy McCall, Number X-999. Is there a laboratory prepared where I can conduct my initial experiments with her?"
The pair looked hurt and disappointed, but managed to keep smiling. "Yes, Doctor Dirk," Kyle said. "Laboratory Number One is fully prepared."
"Fine," Dr. Villiers said. "Number X-999 and I shall go there at once."
Karla flashed a look of pure hate at Marcy, but when her eyes returned to Dr. Villiers they shone with worship again. "What a lucky girl she is! I shall never forget your initial experiments with us. It was such a shining moment in our lives!"
"Will you please quit chattering and get out of the way," Dr. Villiers said impatiently. "My scientific curiosity must be appeased at once!"
"Yes, doctor," Karla said, and turned to lead the way upstairs and then down a richly carpeted hallway. She stopped halfway down the hall and threw open a door. Marcy stared in surprise. Instead of the test tubes, metal table, and blazing lights she expected, there was a huge circular bed, softly glowing lamps, and erotic paintings on the walls.
"This is a laboratory?" she asked.
"Of course," Villiers said. "A laboratory for sexual experimentation. Did you think it would look like a place where they make cultures for germ warfare? Or a breakfast cereal plant?"
He turned to Kyle and Karla. "This is most satisfactory. You may go."
The two burnished heads bowed, and the golden-skinned couple backed out of the room.
With them went all that remained of Marcy's determination to remain calm and untouched by whatever happened. She started to tremble, all her fears and scruples rushing back. "This is most improper," she said. "I think it would be best if I left right now."
"Nonsense!" Villiers laughed. "Experimental animals know nothing of proper or improper. They exist only for scientific experimentation."
Marcy tried another tack, anything to postpone the inevitable. "That Kyle and Karla – are they your colleagues?"
"Ha!" Dirk Villiers' laugh was sharp and contemptuous. "They are brother and sister, subjects S-124 and S-125. They are of interest only because of their omni-sexuality. They have no potential as human beings, only specimens. As you will see, they are capable of conceiving lust for almost any person or object presented to them, including each other."
Marcy's eyes became saucers. "You mean…" she hardly dared breathe the word, "incest?"
Villiers shrugged. "It is one of their milder deviations, and of no concern to us at the moment. You will learn more about the Karlows later."
Calmly, and with no apparent emotion, he reached out and ripped off her blouse, yanked her bra loose, and tossed both to the floor. Skirt, garter belt, stockings, and panties followed. Then he stood considering her, his brooding eyes moving from the large, creamy breasts with the ripe cherry nipples, down to the narrow waist and flaring hips. The full-fleshed thighs held his gaze briefly, but it was the honey-colored triangle between them that obviously intrigued him most.
"Yes, X-999, you'll work out fine. I don't believe I've ever seen a lovelier example of your species. Most, especially of your advanced years, are ugly or flat-chested, or both. You are remarkable – truly remarkable."
"Species?" Marcy asked. "What species?"
"The class of female I refer to as Ravaged Virgin, my dear. It has enduring scientific and personal interest for me."
Marcy stared at him as a rabbit might stare at a snake. "You're not going to – not now – not you!"
"Why not me? That's what you signed up for, to get rid of your cherry, and there's nothing I enjoy more than relieving a girl of that inconvenience."
He leaned over, and using both thumbs, spread the plump pink labia so he could see the glistening folds and convolutions of soft flesh that lay inside. He inserted an exploratory finger, and grinned as her pelvis involuntarily thrust forward.
"I think you had better lie down on the experimental table now, X-999," he said. "Lie down, open your legs, and prepare the specimen for experimentation by my tongue."
Marcy gasped and shut her eyes. She had no intention of doing any such thing. The very idea of telling her to stretch out on that sinfully big bed and permit him to – oh, what a dirty thing to suggest! Did he really think she'd let him stick his tongue in there? No man had ever done that to her – no man should ever want to!
"No!" she said aloud. "I won't do it!"
"But my dear, you are already doing it," Dirk Villiers laughed.
Marcy opened her eyes and found herself flat on her back on the black satin sheet, her legs so far apart that she might have been attempting to do a split. Her back was arched, and the fragrant valley at the base of her belly was lifted toward him in wanton invitation.
Shocked into immobility by the treachery of her own body, Marcy watched while the man stripped rapidly. The sight of his strongly muscled body, with its drifts of black hair on chest, belly, and thighs frightened her, but there was an underlying excitement and fascination she couldn't deny. When his massive cock and balls came into view, Marcy gasped in disbelief.
"What's the matter, X-999?" he asked with a sardonic smile. "Is there something about me that bothers you?"
"Y-yes," she said through chattering teeth, and pointed. "That!"
"And what is that called, X-999?" Dr. Villiers asked, taking the huge prick in his hand and moving closer to her. "Tell me its name."
Marcy gulped and licked at her lips nervously. "Uh – ah – it's – it's your p-peter."
"My what?"
"Your – your peter."
"Oh, what childish nonsense! Tell me its real name!" He came nearer, aiming the big, red-capped cock at her unguarded cunt lips while he stroked it into full erection. "Say the word! That's part of the experiment."
Marcy's mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. He knelt on the bed between her legs and let the throbbing prick touch the inside of her thigh.
"Tell me what this is!" he commanded.
"Y-your – p-penis," Marcy quavered.
"A penis is something a little boy has," he said, and rubbed the hardened flesh over the velvety skin at the top of her inner thigh. "A man has a cock, a prick! Does that feel like a penis to you?"
Marcy bit her lip to keep from moaning as the hot man-flesh sent jolts of electricity, through her quivering body.
"Don't be afraid of the words," he said, passing the rigid shaft lightly across the open, yawning lips of her dripping cunt. "Tell me what this is, X-999!"
"It's – it's your c-c-cock," she finally choked out.
"Right! And that's the way you will refer to it in the future! You are going to become well acquainted with my cock! You will be impaled on it, skewered and fucked by it! You will take it in your mouth and suck it! You will get to know it better than you know yourself, so do not hesitate to use its proper name!"
Marcy closed her eyes, not wanting him to see how she was being consumed by a wild inner fire she had never known before. She was engulfed in waves of physical passion she had never imagined possible.
"This part of the procedure is for your sake, as well as for the scientific information it will yield," Dr. Villiers said. She felt his breath on her belly, and then the stirring of her silken pubic hair. "Your cunt is tight, and to ram my big cock into it without some preparation might be unnecessarily cruel. Don't misunderstand me, however. Before this night is over, you will have experienced pain as well as ecstasy. But to start with, I choose to initiate you gently."
Marcy felt his hot, wet tongue search through the curling blonde tendrils that covered her mound, locate the open pink petals, and slither between them.
"Ohhh, what – what are you doing?" she wailed, as the tongue drew back and then stabbed at the sensitive clit. "D-don't do that! Take your tongue out of my privates!"
Villiers' head jerked up in surprise. "Your what?"
"My privates," Marcy repeated.
"My God, girl, must you be so mid-Victorian? This slit between your legs is a cunt! I told you that before. It's a cunt, a repository for the male cock! In a very short time, I intend to give you empirical evidence of that."
He used his fingers to open her wider, and plunged his tongue deep into the molten cavity of her throbbing pussy.
"I asked you to stop that," Marcy gasped. "I'm a respectable girl, and I don't allow men to…" Her voice drifted away in a lovely pink fog that had come from nowhere to enfold her.
"Perhaps you would prefer this?" Villiers said, taking her hand and moving it to his swollen shaft. She felt the heavy flesh resting in her palm, and trembled, unable to separate her terror from an equally strong longing.
His tongue was avidly at work now, gliding over the slippery surface of the swollen cunt lips and pausing frequently to lick at the tiny clit, where all her wild new sensations seemed centered.
"Please – oh, please," she moaned, unaware that her hand had closed over the giant cock and was clinging to it tightly. Her protests trailed off into a series of whimpers and uncontrollable squeals.
She could hear another sound too, a slurping noise. It sounded like a cat drinking milk, but it was coming from between her thighs.
The pink haze was turning darker as the man's tongue circled the button of her desire, then drew it between his lips and sucked it. Then she remembered something.
"What – what kind of experiment is this?" she panted. "You're not taking any notes."
"I'm not, but there are cameras trained on us, and delicate instruments are measuring your every response to each new thrill."
"Oh… ohhhh… ohhhhh!" she whimpered, moving her buttocks so that her sopping cunt rubbed wetly against his mouth. Flashes of pleasure lanced through her from the tip of his tongue, and Marcy began to go a little insane. She squashed her dripping honeypot all over Villiers' face, and reached blindly to grab him by the hair. Her fingers touched his ears instead, and without hesitation she used them as handles to pull his head deeper into the steaming juices of her perfumed slit.
Then, on an impulse she didn't understand but couldn't resist, Marcy dropped one hand back onto Dr. Villiers' giant shaft. Even in her frantic excitement, she couldn't help comparing it to her fiance's. Not that she had ever intentionally looked at Roger's prick. But once, when they had been swimming in the ocean, a gigantic wave had hit them unexpectedly, dragging his trunks down his legs and giving her a shocked glimpse of his organ. She supposed he was about average in size, but he didn't begin to compare with this enormous tool.
Just feeling it with her hand and thinking about it started the strangest, strongest urge in her. It shocked her to her puritanical depths, but she had to admit to an outrageous desire to take that awful thing in her mouth! She wanted to feel it bulge her cheeks out, she wanted to lick it and suck it – wanted to taste it! She must be completely out of her mind, but she wanted desperately to have that long, thick pole crammed into her mouth!