Subject: MNA: The Additive (mc mf ff) 01/01
From: ladd@cs.unc.edu (Brian C. Ladd)
Date: 1 Mar 1996 10:59:06 -0500
Message-ID: <4h76sa$ek@baldhead.cs.unc.edu>
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Mindnumbing Archive Repost
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[BEGIN]
From: trane@teamhbbs.com (TRANE)
Thought y'all might have some fun with this one...
*****************
The Additive
"It's nothing different than a bartender putting extra
salt in the pretzels to get you to drink more, right?"
Phyllis brushed her curly dark hair away from her forehead
and took another swallow of her beer. I shrugged; the day
had been too long to get into another argument with my lab
partner and colleague. Our boss, tall, bespectacled Dimry,
sat in the booth absorbed with his thoughts. He frowned,
and then looked at us with his usual owlish cast.
"Look, Phyllis, if we don't get better results, there
won't be any moral issues to be debated anyway. You know
that Ms. Bowder is about to pull the plug on us if we don't
come up with something useful to Taste Enhancement, Inc. While
I'm off at the Food Additives conference this week I want you and
Barry to try to come up with *some* product that we're capable of
developing a consumer craving for." Dimry's voice, monotonous as
it was, still well-conveyed the urgency of our situation.
"Sorry, Mr. Dimry, I just don't see any way around the DNA
limits. We can create additives that will cause people to
develop a craving for certain, but not vegetables and
absolutely not any artificially created substances."
"There goes the Tang account," I cracked. I shied from
Dimry's scowl. He never cared for my sense of humor.
"Right, Phyllis. It really comes down to some kind of
genetic memory. If some food company served something closer
to our genetic material - like gorilla meat, we could
develop an insatiable craving for the product with CRV-55.
The closer to our own DNA, and the closeness of the product
to our genetic material. Hell, if someone marketed human
sweat, with CRV-55, I could make you sell your grandmother
to the Libyans in return for a cup of the stuff."
"Any chance of getting a concession with the Donner
party?" I ducked, expecting Dimry to toss a bar pretzel at
me. He just sighed and reached for the check that the
cocktail waitress had dropped on the table.
"Yup, Barry, that's what it comes down to. We could
develop a taste craving for any part of the human flesh or
excretion, but that's about the size of it."
We morosely finished our beers and headed out into the
night. We realized that if our exalted employer, TEI,
didn't think that we could develop a substance that could
induce a craving for the taste of a commercially available
product, the Project Crave team would be let go. As far as
we knew, human sweat was not yet on the market.
Do I credit the beer that caused me to wake in the middle
of the night? Would my subconscious have set off the alarm in my
head anyway? In any case, the thought sprang into my head
full-blown at about 2:00 a.m., and I immediately headed to my
little personal computer and worked out the necessarily formulae.
I picked up an old issue of *Playboy*, did what was necessary
into a vial, and went back to sleep.
At 6:30, I was down at the lab, mixing the contents of my
vial and our most promising concoction in the centrifuge,
and the elixir was created. I called my semi-steady date,
Cheryl, and asked her if she was free that evening. She
paused, "Well, Barry, what do you have in mind?" I shook my
head. Cheryl was usually free if I had tickets to a top
concert or a reservation to a trendy new restaurant where
she could be seen by the right people. Otherwise, she was
usually unavailable. She'd let me sleep with her twice -
seemingly a matter of duty - but basically let me know that
my duties consisted of a good forty-five minutes of slavish,
cunnilingual attention to her needs, and then she might
deign to let me enter her and take care of myself, so long
as I manipulated her clitoris into another orgasm. You may
ask why I continued to see her. A fair question to be sure.
She was stylish, drop dead gorgeous, and had a great body.
With her biting wit, she was even pretty good company.
So, only by promising her dinner at Yves', the most
expensive bistro in town, was I able to persuade her to join
me for the evening. I left the office early with me newly
created treasure, leaving Phyllis with a perplexed look on
her face at my cheerful demeanor. I dressed in my most
stylish sport coat and picked her up promptly at 7:00;
Cheryl left me sitting in the car waiting until 7:20, so I
had to slip the maitre 'd at Yves' at twenty to get him to
honor our reservation. Still, her stylishly short blonde
hair and astonishingly full and soft lips captivated me. As
always, she did virtually all the talking, which helped me
hide my own nervousness.
When the waiter came by to ask us if we wanted dessert,
Cheryl paused, as though mentally calculating calories, and
my throat went dry for a moment. Finally, she accepted the
waiter's recommendation of a creme brulee, and I relaxed.
When the dessert arrived, it required nothing more than an
opinion by me that a fellow two tables away looked just like
a local rock star to induce her to turn her head, and the
requisite dose of the clear elixir made it onto her brulee
well before she turned back. She wolfed down the dessert and
began making the obligatory noises about having a busy
morning planned, and I knew that she had no intention of
inviting me to spend the evening with her. I nodded
understandingly, and we left the restaurant.
On the way back to her place, she seemed oddly quiet.
Looking over at her, I could see her run her tongue inside
her cheek, as though search for a piece of stray food caught
in her teeth. When we got to her condo, I reached across her
and unlatched the door, pushing it open. "Well, Cheryl, I
guess you should get in, with that hectic day you've got
coming up."
Her blue eyes flashed with suprise. "W-w-well....," she
stuttered, "you can come in for a cup of coffee if you
want." She looked at me imploringly. I feigned reluctance,
and nodded.
We got into her living room, and she dropped her purse in
the corner. She still looked nervous. "I can start some
coffee..." Her tongue lipped at her luscious lips. I leaned
against the wall, silently. She came over. Still, I did
nothing.
She looked down, and I could see her mind working. She
looked up, and I once again fell into the swirling blue
holes that was those eyes of her. "Barry?" I remained stone-
faced. "I guess sometimes I'm a bit rough on you. And...
maybe..." She paused, her tongue still working over her
lips. "I can maybe make it up to you."
"Sure, Cheryl. Whatever you'd like."
Gratefully, in relief, she ran her hand over my chest and
down to my belt buckle. With surprising speed, she unhooked
the belt and the clasp of my pants. Her hands were visibly
shaking as she yanked the pants and my jockey shorts to my
ankles in one quick tug. My slumbering soldier peeked out.
Wordlessly, she dropped to her knees on the thick carpet.
She wrapped her hand and its impeccably manicured nails
around my now rising cock. Her face drew to within an inch
of the reddening tip. Within three or four strokes of her
her hand, I was rock hard, with a dewy drop of my jizm
beading at the slit at the end.
With a cry of delight, she drew her pursed lips forward
and sucked at the dripping cum. I barely resisted the urge
to laugh out loud at my triumph. Yes! It works!
With ill-disguised hunger, the golden-tressed goddess
pushed forward. Her lips clung tightly to the engorged rod.
Her tongue darted around the tip.
I cupped Cheryl's perfect, high cheekbones and pulled her
lips off my cock. "Lick me honey. Lick the shaft and my hot
balls," I cried.
"Uh-uh," she protested. "I want to taste it. I want you
to.. I want your stuff in my mouth."
She shook her head free of my grasp and swallowed me
whole. Her right hand was pressed against my groin as her
throat worked at the tip. She gagged briefly and drew my
engorged sword out of her choking throat. As quickly, she
threw herself forward again, capturing half of me in her
hungry maw. Her hand slid off my pubic hair and around the
base of the shaft. With her thumb and forefinger, she
encircled the base of the stalk, and began a vigorous
stroking up and down.
Cheryl's tongue and perfect lips began laving hotly at my
cock. Soon, they developed a rhythm in time with her
stroking hand, her face jerking forward and back in
metronome like provision.
She reluctantly drew her mouth away and looked up at me.
Breathlessly she panted, "What should I do, Barry? What will
make you cum?" Her stroking continued, and now her left hand
rose to lightly knead my hanging balls.
"Well, babe. Take me deep - as deep as you can."
Unquestioningly, Cheryl replied, "Sure honey, but you
gotta tell me when you're about to shoot."
She resumed her sucking, taking me fully into her mouth
and into the entrance of her throat, moaning lustfully all
the while. Four, five more strokes and I cried, "Yes,
Cheryl, you've got me there!"
She continued her stroking but brought her lips back so
that they just captured the end of my lust reddened rod. My
hips jerked forward, but she pulled her head back so my pole
penetrated no further. With a sibilant, "Yesssss" I
exploded, and looked down to watch the culmination of my
fantasies as I saw Cheryl's cheeks expand as my sizzling
fluid filled her mouth.
Her face contorted in a ricture of ecstasy, and I could
feel her tongue joyfully sweep over the spurting helmet. Her
soft fingers milked every drop out of me. I just stood
against the wall, trying to keep my legs from giving way, my
gaze still fixed on her perfect features. She finally let my
prick, now cleaned by her slavering tongue.
I watched transfixed, as she lay back on the carpet,
visibly savoring the taste of my residue in her mouth. After
a moment, she guiltily looked up at me. She opened her mouth
to speak, and I could see her spunk still pooled in her
mouth. "Uh, Barry, that was great, but maybe... well, I
guess you should go."
As I nodded my acquiescence, I saw a thin stream of my cum
trickle out of her mouth and head down her cheek. A thin
finger quickly vacuumed it back into her wettened maw.
I pulled my pants back up and headed toward the door. As I
headed out I looked back. She was still on the floor, fully
clothed, with her head tilted back. Her cheeks were hollowed
as she savored the taste of me. She seemed happy.
As I bounded down the steps of her building, I pumped my
fists into the air. The potion worked! A woman who barely would
be caught in my company had taken a sip of my new formulation
developed a craving for man's semen and, to get it, willingly
sucked me off like a madwoman. If this didn't make TEI the
biggest name in consumer products, nothing would. I would be a
hero to Dimry and that competitive Phyllis, and even the ice
queen herself, Paula Whitney Bowder, executive extraordinaire,
would haveto make her tight ass sit up and take notice. So, it was
little wonder that I walked into the office the
next morning - early, with a considerable spring in my step
and a shit-eating grin on my face. I stopped by Phyllis'
office to give her some generalized grief of the "I've got a
secret that you know nothing about" variety. Just as I was
about to barge through her closed door, I heard a moan from
inside. I pressed my ear to the door. Softly but audibly,
Phyllis' voice came from the other side.
"Yes, honey, right there. Yes, now lick my clit now too...
Come on, not just inside. Please... lick my little button...
Oh shit."
I quietly unlatched the door and peeked inside. Phyllis
was sitting in her chair, her legs spread and her hand
rubbing her slit. Well, it seemed to be rubbing her pussy,
but I couldn't see her pussy because a dark-haired, broad
shouldered man was kneeling between her thighs. His mouth
vigorously was attacking, exploring her loins.
I enjoyed the sight for a moment, and then slipped my head
away and quietly shut the door. Just as I closed it, I could
her her moans rise in pitch and volume, signaling her orgasm
in the mouth of the hunk between her legs. Hell, with her
brassiness, I wasn't sure she even went for guys, but she sure
was going for this one in a big way.
I hung around at the lab bench outside her door, and sure
enough her oral servant emerged within a few minutes. Damn,
it was Big Norm, the company's top salesman! Norm was a
former Calvin Klein model and as smooth as they come. He'd
reportedly slept with half the beautiful women in town,
including the mayor's wife and both of the female
anchorwomen at the local TV stations' news departments. He
could have any woman he wanted; what in hell was he doing
ministering to the needs of our own Phyllis. I mean,
Phyllis was attractive enough and all, but she wasn't the
sort of sleek, over-made up, and - usually - rich woman he
usually dated. What in hell was going on here?
Phyllis' door opened and she emerged with a smile of
superiority that surpassed even her own world record standard of
arrogance. I just stared at her. She stared back haughtily,
capped with a sigh of contentment. Her eyes widened when she
realized that I had heard her tryst with Norm, then narrowed in
alarm.
Double damn! I realized what she'd done, and she immediately
sensed my knowledge. You don't slave over a lab bench with
someone for eighteen months without acquiring a sixth sense about
their scientific discoveries. With a flip of her head and a
conspiratorial - but still superior - wink, she turned and went
back into her office.
The next morning, I persuaded Ronelle, the young, busty law
student intern in the legal department to join me for a doughnut
in my office on the pretext of discussing patent application
matters. With her long, straight dark hair and college
cheerleader looks, she'd been the focus of numerous fantasies
around the water cooler. From a casual conversation sitting
beside me on my office couch, she was - within ten minutes -
lying full length along it with her face buried in my lap. As
with Cheryl, she was little interested in preliminaries, but
rather focussed her attention on running her rosebud lips up and
down my quivering erection, pumping energetically with her hand.
She did not protest when I took her dark-tressed head in my hands
and guided her mouth up and down my cock, even when I exerted
extra pressure and forced my rod almost into her throat.
Within minutes, Phyllis had arrived at my door - which I quite
intentionally had left a few inches ajar. Out of the corner of my
eye I could see her gasp in surprise, then frown as she realized
she held no monopoly on her discovery. Even so, her curiosity
kept her glued to the door as my balls jerked and delivered up
their load of my sticky seed into Ronelle's hungry mouth. I lay
back and enjoyed the sensation of her cheeks pressing in on the
sides of my sensitive organ while she drew every last drop out of
me.
I quickly looked to the door and caught Phyllis' eye, returning
the wink she'd delivered the previous morning. Phyllis flushed -
out of either embarassment or anger - and left the doorway.
By midmorning the next day, Phyllis had a short, red haired
woman reporter and her bearded photographer from a major science
journal down on their knees in front of her couch, both fighting
for the honor of drinking from the vessel of my colleague's cunt.
Phyllis of course had also left her door cracked open and was
particularly vocal about enjoyment, knowing that I'd be drawn to
peek from her doorway.
The competition between us intensified. I had two of our sales
representatives and a visiting copier repairwoman extract my cum
with their suddenly hungry mouths. Phyllis enjoyed the work of
two more of our executives and an investigator from the FDA
nursing at her loins, the last of these sucking her from behind
while she sat perched on he shoulders and knees with her ass
sticking in the air. Because Dimry was still at the Additives
conference, there was no risk of others walking in on us.
I did discover one oddity when I invited the tall, willowy
young blonde secretary from the personnel department by. While I
waited for her "doughnut" to take effect, she confided how Jesus
was such an important factor in her life and guided her thoughts
and acts. After a few minutes, she grabbed for an eclair,
insisting that she just felt hungry that morning but wasn't sure
why. After she'd polished off everything in the box, it occurred
to me - she was a virgin who'd never tasted a man's cum and
therefore had no reference by which to target her craving. Our little
game was interrupted by an unexpected call from
Jerry Basehart, Dimry's boss, who announced that Paula Bowder
herself, the CEO and all-round bitch on wheels, had just popped
in for one of her famous surprise visits and wanted to see our
lab for a progress report. Damn again, I had no idea she even
knew our project existed.
Bowder was known as a woman of intellectual force and presence
beyond all imagining. It had been speculated that she had each
item in the company budget memorized, and woe be it to the
department manager who had extra soft toilet tissue stocked in a
bathroom where the budget called for a bargain brand. She'd
graduated at the top of her class at Stanford business school
and, at the age of 32, the head of our company and reputedly on
her way to Chairman of the Board of the entire conglomerate.
Phyllis and I scrambled around, tidying things up,
surreptitiously scrubbing off incriminating stains from our
couches, and printing out test results. I shoved my box of
doughnuts in a corner, straightened my tie, and tried to set up
my lab station so that it looked like a had a hot project going.
Precisely at 11:00 a.m., the woman herself showed up. Although
only of average heighth, Paula Bowder had a magnetism about her
that is impossible to describe. Her honey blonde hair was pulled
tightly back, and her piercing blue eyes took in all that she
scanned, even - I'm sure - the jelly stain that I hadn't been
able to get out of my tie.
With no time wasted, Bowder walked us through each of our
projects, asking for current results and likely future prospects.
While no chemist, she knew the right questions to ask and could
tell when we were blowing smoke. "So, what you're telling me is
that all you've been able to do is to develop with this CRV-55 is
a substance that will, in some people, enhance their craving for
a good steak, but not for much of anything else." Her cool voice
sent a tremor down my spine, landing right between my balls.
Phyllis and I nodded glumly.
Bowder sighed and rose to her feet. "Well, get me your expense
actuals and give me a quick tour of your facility here, and I'll
move along." Phyllis walked her to the centrifuge in the
corner while I went to my office for the reports. When I emerged,
Bowder was happily munching on a croissant and chatting with
Phyllis.
The blood drained from my face. The croissants! I'd doctored a
couple in anticipation of a visit from the sexy manager in
accounting. Did Bowder have one of them? She didn't seem
affected, and in a business-like sweep of her arm took the
reports from me and headed toward the door. As her hand hit the
doorknob, I sighed with relief. Phyllis' brown eyes glanced over
at mine.
Bowder turned. I could see her hand, still clutching our
expense reports, shake slightly. "Excuse me," she mumbled, "could
you direct me to your ladies' room?" Phyllis stumbled forward and
pointed her to the door just across
the hall. Phyllis came back in and glared at me accusingly.
"Well, what do you suppose *that* was about, Barry?"
I couldn't meet Phyllis' big brown eyes. "Beats me," I
muttered, then put on a jocular air, "but it sounds to me like
the woman had a full bladder. You want me to alert the New York
Times?" Phyllis said nothing, but just returned to one of the
lab stations. I sat at another on the far side of the lab.
Fifteen minutes later, the door of our office came crashing
open. Bowder strode through, a look of menace on her face. Her
make-up seemed a bit askew and her linen skirt was visibly
wrinkled. She sat across from a petrified Phyllis and motioned me
over with a jerk of her head. I scuttled to a seat next to
Phyllis.
"Okay you two assholes, let's see if I got this straight." The
elegance was gone from her voice. This woman was a street fighter
if I ever heard one. "You've developed an additive that will
cause whoever ingests it to develop a craving for certain ...
shall we say sexual secretions, right?" I froze, Phyllis dumbly
nodded. "Let's see; you put some on the croissant to see if the
old lady would fall prey to it and come slavering after you, get
your rocks off and give you a huge bonus?" Phyllis and I began to
sputter our protests. Bowder held up a hand to silence us.
"Enough! Phyllis, your conniving lesbian ass is fired. I've
spent the last ten minutes in the john fingering myself and
sucking on my finger to satisfy the craving brought on by your
stupid formula brought on. Not only is your stunt mean and
dangerous, it's pointless. What woman is going to go down to the
store to buy a product to make her man suck her pussy? That's
just not gonna happen. Grab your purse, and the security man
outside the door will escort you to personnel to pick up your
paycheck. You're not taking any notes or vials out of your
office, am I clear?" Phyllis bit her lip in shock, and nodded
through her brimming tears. She grabbed her purse and ran out of
the lab.
Bowder turned to me. Her voice now took on a lower, conspira-
torial timbre. "Now, Barry, I assume you will be able to find any
remaining vials of that substance, and maybe even replicate her
formula? After all, even though we can't market that product, it
would be a pity to let it go to waste when there's an attractive
but busy woman who might be able to make use of it, right?"
I nodded again. Bowder leaned back and chuckled. "It's a pity,
though. While you couldn't market this stuff to women, it would
be pretty easy to develop a lucrative black market for the male
equivalent. Every executive I know would pay into six-figures for
a substance that would make women crave the taste of semen."
She looked at me evenly, scrutinizing my face.
"Ms. Bowder - or maybe I could call you Paula. I wouldn't know
about the financial end of things, but ... well... could I
interest you in another croissant?"
=========
*=TRANE=*
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[END]
Brian C. Ladd, Curator, Mindnumbing Archive
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