The Scientist

By Ashley Zacharias

I don’t know what’s going on in the Disruptive Technologies Laboratory. It’s all top secret, hush hush over there. But there’s rumors that their chief scientist, Quinn Charles, is conducting some kind of experiments on a sex slave. Who knows what he’s doing to that poor woman. Someone told me that she’s a real sex pot. All the geeks working in the lab are smiling like they died and gone to heaven. Quinn’s brilliant, but he’s as devious as all get out. I shudder to think what he might have dreamed up. They say he's planning a spectacular demo at the end of the month. I sure wish I was invited.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Zacharias
• Release date: Oct 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463655047

Ashley Zacharias

I am a post-modern woman who lives a vanilla life but fantasizes about adventures in masochism. I appreciate readers who purchase my books but, more than money, I need your honest response to my writing. Review my books or contact me at ashleyzacharias.com and let me know what you think of my stories. Good or bad, as long as you are not indifferent, your honest response will help me to write more and better stories.You can find my thoughts about my own stories athttp://ashleyzachariascommentary.wordpress.com/Yours, Ashley

Book preview

THE SCIENTIST

by Ashely Zacharias

Copyright (c) 2018 Ashely Zacharias

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, either in whole or in part, in any form. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy.

Chapter One

The slave looked at her new owner. What’s my name?

Quinn Charles cocked his head and frowned. What do you mean? You know your own name.

"No, sir, I don’t. Under the terms of my contract, I don’t have a name until you give me one.

Quinn looked at the papers in his hand. He was holding two contracts. The small one was a single handwritten page that said that the slave was voluntarily entering into a period of sexual slavery. It gave her owner the right to order her to perform any sexual act with himself or other people, physically restrain her, and discipline her by spanking her. Her owner was limited by two conditions: she could not be permanently injured or killed; and she had to be released unharmed at the end of the summer. It also permitted her owner to give her to another person who would be subject to the same contract.

The second contract said essentially the same thing, except that one of her previous owners, the second one of the summer, had given her original handwritten contract to his lawyers who had expanded it to two hundred and fifty pages by describing in detail every conceivable contingency and eventuality, however unlikely.

She’d never bothered even to read the second contract; she took the lawyers’ word that they hadn’t changed any of the basic conditions.

Quinn was also holding an addendum that extended the term of her contract from Labor Day, which was the day after tomorrow, to the thirtieth of September. In the last three months, she had been passed from her original owner, a farmer who mostly supported himself by developing software for a company called Mind Leap Applications to the libertine billionaire CEO of Mind Leap to the puritanical CFO of Mind Leap and his wife. Today, she had been gifted once again, this time to Quinn Charles, who was the chief scientist in Mind Leap’s development laboratory. All summer, she had been looking forward her emancipation on Labor Day, but Quinn refused to accept her servitude unless she extended her slavery for another month, arguing that he couldn’t fully appreciate her in only a couple of days.

With some misgivings, she had agreed and would now remain enslaved while she watched her long-anticipated day of emancipation pass.

Quinn looked back up at her. If I have to give you a name, then I’m going to call you Subject One.

Subject One? Like the subject in a science experiment? She felt a frisson of fear pass through her body. What did Quinn intend to do to her?

He was a handsome man, in his early thirties and physically fit. He was, in a word, sexy.

He was also brilliant, holding a doctorate in experimental psychology, a master’s degrees in computer science, and another master’s degree in electrical engineering.

After being enslaved to the billionaire who mostly wanted to display her to his friends and the accountant who was unattractive, inside and out, she hoped Quinn would satisfy her sexually, which was partly why she had agreed to extend her slavery by an additional month.

But if he saw her as only a subject in some kind of experiment, then she feared she would spend the entire month in misery.

She nodded at the contracts in his hand. As you wish. I will answer to Subject One or any other name that you care to give me. But you must remember that you are not permitted to injure me. As a slave, she never questioned her owner or complained about what he did to her, but she wouldn’t hesitate to remind him of the terms of her contract and insist that he abide by them.

He looked pained. I have no intention of injuring you. Or beating you or putting you in bondage with ropes or chains, even though your contract allows me to do that. I intend to give you pleasure. Considerable pleasure.

Subject One thought that sounded like a good deal. She was basing her expectations on a couple of previous consensual sexual encounters with Quinn. Those had been satisfying — he was an experienced and considerate lover — but misleading. On those occasions he’d not known she was a sexual slave; her previous owner had been Quinn’s lover and had introduced her as a friend who was willing to participate in a threesome.

Now her circumstances were entirely different. Now he not only knew she was a sexual slave, but he owned her. Clearly, he intended to have an entirely different relationship with her. She had no idea how brutally a brilliant scientist and engineer could use cutting edge technology to administer pleasure to a slave, but she had a suspicion that a young woman with a health libido might be oppressed most dreadfully by the judicious granting of pleasure.

Please get into the car.

She glanced back at the house of horror where she had spent the previous six weeks enslaved to a couple whose religious zealotry bordered on fanaticism. She had no regrets leaving those sadists behind.

She slid into the passenger seat of Quinn’s silver Porsche Carrera and buckled her seatbelt.

She expected him to take her to his home — a downtown high-rise condo that overlooked the San Diego harbor. Instead, he took the freeway north to Sorrento Valley.

She didn’t ask where they were going. A slave didn’t question her owner.

Chapter Two

Quinn was a precise driver. He drove at exactly five miles over the speed limit, stayed in exactly the center of his lane, followed the car in front of him by exactly two seconds, and when a light turned red, stopped exactly one half car length behind it.

The slave found the degree to which he controlled his car to be a little creepy. She knew Quinn enjoyed exerting control over his lover, who was the adulterous wife of her previous owner — and she found that prospect of submitting to his will somewhat attractive — but she hadn’t expected that his need for control would extend to all aspects of his life. She belatedly realized that he might be more controlling than she wanted.

Her second owner, the wealthy CEO of Mind Leap Apps had also been control freak and that had ended badly for her. But he had hidden his need for control behind a facade of a sexual libertine. Quinn wan’t hiding his need for control at all.

After navigating through a maze of wide boulevards in the Sorrento Valley industrial area north of of San Diego, he turned into a parking lot in front of an featureless, low concrete building. There were only a couple of cars in the lot. The spaces nearest the building were marked with numbers rather than names. The slave noted that Quinn parked in the space labeled with a three. She wondered if the number was significant or if he just happened to take the space that was nearest to the front door.

He didn’t say anything to her when he got out of his car. She wondered if she was supposed to remain in the car until he returned or follow him into the building.

He paused and looked at her, waiting.

That was her answer. She opened the door and climbed out.

Until I tell you otherwise, you are to stay with me at all times. He thumbed the key fob and the car door locks clicked.

She had her orders. She followed him to the front door.

He pulled an ID card on a lanyard from his shirt pocket, pressed it to a pad to unlock the door, and then let the card dangle around his neck.

She followed him into the building.

A middle-aged security guard sitting behind a counter nodded at him. Good afternoon, Mr. Charles.

I’ll be escorting a visitor. She’ll need a badge.

The guard laid a red badge with a big yellow V on a clipboard. Yes, sir.

The paper on the clipboard was half filled with names of visitors, next to the date and time that they entered the building and the time they left. The slave wondered if Quinn was going to write Subject One on the form, or if he expected her to write her real name. If the latter, he was going to be sorely disappointed. Her contract said explicitly that she would never divulge her legal name, and that her owner was not to press her for it.

It turned out not to be a problem. Quinn handed her the badge and ignored the sign-in form.

He walked away; she followed him, clipping the badge to her dress as she walked. The guard said nothing. This was Quinn’s lab; he made the rules, and he decided which ones applied to him.

Quinn had to scan his badge at another door to exit the lobby and escort her deeper into the building.

Once past the inner door, she found a large room filled with a couple of dozen cubicles separated by half walls, each containing a chair, desk, and computer.

It was Friday afternoon. She expected a product development laboratory to be bustling during working hours, but the place was as quiet as a graveyard. Only two of the cubicles were occupied, both at the far end of the room, both by young men who were bent over their keyboards, typing furiously. Quinn didn’t disturb them. Neither of them looked up to notice that a beautiful young woman had entered their demesne.

If she had been nude, as was the preference of most of her previous owners, they would have paid rapt attention to her, but this time, for the first time, she’d been clothed when she was handed over to her new owner. She expected that Quinn would have her strip off her dress soon enough — men liked their women naked when given a choice — but he hadn’t given her the order yet.

Looking at the two young men, the slave wondered if Quinn would keep her services for himself, exclusively, or if she would be required to keep his colleagues sexually satisfied as well.

A sex slave can never guess what might be required of her. Most of her previous owners had passed her around to other men.

He nodded at the two men and grinned. They’re writing software for you. Then he led her down a short hallway and into a spacious office.

She didn’t ask him to explain his cryptic comment, but was left to wonder what kind of software a sex slave would require.

Quinn ignored her for a few minutes while he made a phone call. She’s here. … Yes, the sooner the better. … See you.

More mysteries. Maybe he was calling a friend to come and make use of her body, but she suspected that Quinn had something far less mundane in mind.

He looked at her. What should we do while we’re waiting?

She raised an eyebrow. "I am a sex slave."

Well then, slave, give me sex.

She sank to her knees in front of him, unzipped his pants and gave him as much pleasure as her talented mouth could give.

That was a lot of pleasure.

Chapter Three

Subject One spent a boring half hour sitting in a chair in Quinn’s office, the taste of his cum slowly dissipating in her mouth, while he sat at his computer and typed sporadically. She couldn’t see his screen. She didn’t know if he was typing emails, writing code, or drafting a document. He didn’t deign to enlighten her.

When his phone rang, she was given hope that something was going to happen.

He kept typing for a few moments, finishing whatever he was doing, before answering after the fourth ring. Quinn. … Sign her in. I’ll be right out. He looked at his slave. Wait here.

He’d said her on the phone. He was talking about another woman. She knew from her previous encounters that he liked threesomes. Maybe he’d arranged another menage a trois. She didn’t much enjoy them, but she was a sex slave. What she did and didn’t enjoy was of no concern to her owner. Only her obedience mattered, and he had that, no question.

A few minutes later, Quinn returned with an impeccably dressed woman, about forty years old, in tow. Her beige, nubby wool suit was accessorized with a teal scarf, belt, and low-heeled pumps. She carried a leather briefcase.

She stopped near the door and assessed Subject One. Her expression made the slave think of a butcher sizing up a side of beef while honing his carving knife. Stand up.

The slave didn’t wait for Quinn to convey the order; she stood immediately.

Turn around.

She turned around so that the woman could see her from all sides.

The well-dressed woman looked at Quinn. Let’s do this in the lab. There’s more room in there.

Sure. He followed her out of the office. The slave didn’t need to be told again to follow her owner.

The slave wondered if there was a bed in the lab. Or maybe something more exotic. She’d heard that Quinn was the chief scientist in Mind Leap’s Disruptive Technologies Laboratory. What kind of sex would be disruptive?

In her experience, which was considerably wider now than it had been at the beginning of her summer of slavery, most sex was disruptive in one way or the other, but some of the kinkier kinds were more disruptive than most.

The lab was on the other side of the cubicle farm. Once again, the two software developers didn’t look up from their screens when Quinn and the two women walked through the far end. This time, though, Subject One felt their eyes on her back when Quinn was opening the door and they were turned away.

The lab was a large empty room, brightly lit with overhead pot lights. The floor was an uninterrupted sheet of light gray vinyl. It contained no bed, no table, no chairs. No furniture at all. The walls were unadorned, but for a huge glass mirror covering most of the far wall. It reflected a slightly dark image, suggesting that it was one-way glass: partially- rather than fully-silvered like a true mirror.

The woman continued to take the lead. Remove your clothes.

Obviously, she wasn’t talking to Quinn. Without hesitation, Subject One stripped off her dress, bra, panties, and shoes. She dropped them on the floor as she had been provided with no other place to put them. Though this was not the first time this summer that she’d been stripped in front of strangers, she still felt uncomfortable. That didn’t matter; a sex slave’s comfort is of no concern to her owner.

This time, though, it was more than uncomfortable; the clinical environment made it feel creepy.

Once nude, she couldn’t stop looking at the one-way mirror. There would be an observation room on the other side, and it could be filled with people, cameras, and microphones. Even if it were not crowded with scientists, the young software developers may well no longer be at their keyboards, typing furiously. They may well have decided to take a coffee break, and sneak into the observation room to enjoy the show.

At least, her body was nothing to be ashamed of. She was young — twenty-five — naturally beautiful, and in great physical shape. Any Hollywood starlet would envy her physical appearance.

The well-dressed woman set her briefcase on the floor, opened it, and pulled out a pen, notepad, and cloth measuring tape.

For the next half hour, Subject One was ordered to raise her arms, lower them, spread her legs, put them together, stand straight, touch her toes, raise her chin, twist her torso to the left, twist to the right, and raise her feet,