by Velvet Moore
(08/12/09)

The smell of science makes me horny.

I narrowly resisted shoving my hands down my pants and rubbing myself to oblivion during my niece's science fair. My stomach dips with pleasure every time someone lights a match. Each July I'm aroused by the vapors of the noise-making, novelty fireworks called "snappers." Little do tricksters know that when they crack one on the pavement at my feet, I shiver out of excitement, not fear.

Smell is the sense tied most closely to human memory. So when I sense any use of potassium chlorate, a white, crystalline compound well-stocked in science laboratories and often used for combustion, I remember how it felt to have the fire of orgasm sizzle its way through my body and melt a liquid path down my legs. The chemical's odor singes my nostrils and flashes me back to the feel of a chilly, marble countertop pressed against my back, to the press of fingers digging into my supple thighs, to the slick pressure of rounded glass slipping in and out.

And it's what I remember most about him.

Most scientists that I've met fit the typical stereotypes. Most would rather analyze your genes than pry off your jeans. Yet I suspected that Michael Harrison was capable of much more than shedding me of my pants. With wavy black hair, broad shoulders and Clark Kent glasses, I believed that stripped of his unassuming attire, he would have something surprising and heroically powerful bulging underneath.

I understood this the first time I shook his hand and caught the scent of chemicals trapped in his clothes and seared into his skin, a smell faint and tangy and far too interesting to be cologne. Like the smell of your body after a lengthy swim in a freshly chlorinated pool. I imagined that if I should run my tongue along his perky nipples, my tongue would sizzle as though touched to the tip of a battery.

We needed a scientist to impress the hospital donors with a tour of the lab. I planned to find an excuse to use him.

I spent the following week visiting the lab to get a sense of his work. His area of interest was biochemistry and I was certainly interested in his chemistry. I came to notice how his hands flexed tightly, fighting against the latex gloves each time he cupped a beaker full of liquid. I watched as he gradually pushed the tip of the lengthy pipette into the stickiness of the gel and ejected its contents. I'd secretly graze my hand across my chest as he pinched and lifted the bell jar by its perky, nipple-like top and used the glassware to create a vacuum.

He stood beside me as an orator while his lab staff performed an experiment in front of eager donors. "Molten potassium chlorate is a strong oxidizing agent that reacts violently with sugar," he explained.

A lab student added a plump, red Gummi Bear to the white liquid bubbling in a test tube over an open flame. In an instant, the candy ignited, sparking and steaming with the power of an electrical fire and screaming like a train whistle. The sudden pop of energy startled me and I jumped in reaction as though I had been smacked sharply across the ass with a ruler. Instantly, his hand splayed across my lower back to calm me, a touch that managed to still my nerves and wet my panties.

Quicker than the smoke from the candied combustion, he cleared himself from me and attended diligently to the prospective donors. He ought to have looked like a pauper among princes, he in a rumpled, white lab coat and tattered tennis shoes, specked among designer suits and patent leather pumps. Yet they clung to his every word, enraptured by the mystifying language of science. As he led the group further into the lab I heard him begin to boast about the facility's latest microarray technology. "Good boy," I thought. He had obeyed my coaching and was hitting all of the major speaking points.

After the event, I congratulated him and mentioned that if he felt the need, we could debrief. He told me that he would be working late and that if I stopped by, we would review things.

I agreed.

That evening, I found him bowed over a polarizing light microscope, his pert little ass hidden by the draping of his white lab coat. He stopped upon noticing my arrival.

"I'm just examining some potassium chlorate," he said. "Want to take a look?"

I shifted toward the microscope resting on the waist-high table and bent to peer in the lens. Magnetized, the crystalline powder was transformed into jagged cubes of translucent hues, like miniature icecaps in Technicolor. Although lacking scientific training, I could appreciate beauty enough to admire the hidden complexity of a seemingly simple form.

"It's beautiful," I said.

"Yes, it is," he said, then smoothed the fingers of one hand down my lower back and around the curve of my rear.

I didn't move, and he continued. "I've been meaning to tell you how much I appreciate the short skirts." His fingers continued their downward path and crept between the slit of my skirt. Two fingertips moved forward to slowly stroke the crease of my panties, which rest against my inner thigh. I felt the material soak with a sudden urgency. Unnerved by the speed of the situation, I stood straight and stepped aside. His hands trailed out of their reach.

"You think I didn't notice that you've been dressing for me?" he asked, as he moved closer, trapping me between his body and the chest-high countertop of the lab bench, now pressed against my spine. "Safety is important in a lab; that's why it's necessary to wear long pants and flat shoes. I'm glad you choose to live a little dangerously."

I blushed and averted my gaze downward as he called me out.

"Do you know much about potassium chlorate?" he asked.

I squinted as I retook his gaze and shook my head no, undoubtedly revealing my confusion, if not disappointment, by the sudden topic shift.

"It's a fairly common compound, yet incredibly powerful. What's so amazing about it is that it looks unassuming, but when combined with something sweet, it releases a surprising amount of energy." With that, he closed the remaining distance between our bodies and reaching with one hand, slowly grazed the pad of his thumb across my smooth lower lip. The touch tingled lips above and below my waist.

I watched as he lifted his hand to his mouth and tasted his thumb where my mouth had just been. "I found something sweet...I think we should experiment."

His hot mouth crushed against mine and I swiftly slid my tongue between his slick lips to pry them open. When his tongue pressed back with equal force, my breath caught and my folds swelled. Eager for pressure, I shoved my hips forward and ground my pelvis against the strong plane of his body. He grabbed my hands now tangled in his hair, loosened my grip and lowered them to rest against the lab bench ledge. Like a fallen angel, I stood with arms spread wide awaiting his command. His nimble fingers made quick work of my shirt's buttons and my bra and he encircled my right breast with his slick mouth.

As he feasted to the right, he pinched my left nipple, pausing only to roll it between his fingers like a fine cigar. The groans that escaped his muffled mouth made me raw with want. Then he suddenly pulled back. I reached out to draw him back in but he again pressed my hands down. I was eager to see the lengthy muscle that had so eagerly been pushed against my aching middle, but he lowered to his knees without disrobing. He gripped the fronts of my thighs beneath my skirt and spread my legs further. He pushed the skirt up around my waist, tucking the bottom into the waistband to keep it put. Down slipped my soaked panties as he pried them down my legs and tossed them aside. A hand cupped possessively at my swollen sex, his palm spreading my lips, pressing against my throbbing clit, fingers toying along the crease of my rear. He met my eyes and showed a sly smile.

Removing his hand from my body, he reached into the deep pocket of his white lab coat, and then pulled out a glass test tube. I gripped the lab bench a little tighter. The slender cylinder slipped easily onto his middle finger. His sly expression disappeared and a look of intense concentration took its place as he leaned forward and leisurely ran the weighty tip of his tongue from the bottom of my soaked sex to the tip of my throbbing clit, making sure to increase pressure during his ascent.

I felt his tongue flick vigorously over my clit while he slipped into me with his glass shrouded finger. The tube glided easily along my slick folds and its rounded tip bumped against all the right places. The combination of his tongue and the tool shot jagged, electric currents destined for between my legs, causing me to twitch, my legs to wobble, my heart to race, my breath to become shallow, moans to escape, my head to roll back, my hands to tighten their grip, and my mind to cloud with the sharp thrill the sexual release. Fingers of his free hand gripped my ass when the height of my orgasm hit, causing me to groan out an "oh god" that echoed throughout the lab and I pushed his mouth away to abate the overwhelming intensity.

He slipped out of me, lifted from his knees and stood silently, watching as my body calmed. Once my breath had slowed I raised my head, attempting to fight the post-peak weariness.

Wanting to please him and willing for more, I grabbed the waistband of his pants, unbuttoned and unzipped them and pushed them down and off his sturdy legs. Next, I headed for the buttons of his collared shirt and painstakingly attempted to undo them all.

Sensing my lingering fatigue, he assisted and then finally removed his boxers, letting his solid shaft stand free. He stood there mostly naked, draped in his lab coat, like a Central Park flasher with a PhD.

Reaching out, I coiled his cock in my hand and he groaned when I began tugging my tightened grip. With equal force he clenched the wrist of my offending hand and pulled me off. Taking advantage of my surprise and of his hold, he spun me around and pressed me forward against the lab bench so that its edge that once pushed along my spine now settled against my abs. Like a yogi in a bow of submission, I stretched my arms forward to steady myself, carelessly pushing aside bottles, scales and other miscellaneous laboratory equipment. I was poised for sexual satisfaction, not for scientific measurement.

He yanked at my hips and I shuffled to a wider stance. His knuckles bumped along my crease as his hand guided his powerful cock inside me, slipping in deeply, easily, and filling me like a man should, and in a way that glass could never match. "Oh, shit, you're tight," he said with a groan. I clenched around him for added affect.

The pumping started easily at first, long and steady, allowing my faded excitement to bubble back to the surface, like a beaker over low heat. In this eased pace, I was able to press my pelvis forward enough to knock my clit against the brass handle of the drawer beneath me. The pressing of his hips repeatedly shoved his cock in and out of me and the handle against my center, bringing it to a sensitive, plump peak.

With my female firearm triggered, I felt myself grow wetter with every intrusion, his pleasured moans serving as a catalyst to my excitement. Now edgy with pleasure and eager for speed, I shoved my ass toward him, drawing him in deeper and signaling my desire. His pace quickened and he pummeled my soaking pussy with plunged force. The sound of my ass smacking against his skin and the flaps of his coat ticking against the bench added to the rising symphony of our sex.

My shallow breathing accelerated and the electricity that resonated between my thighs prickled swiftly to my limbs, signaling my oncoming climax. I pulled his hand from my hip and used his fist to bite back the intensity. But the taste of his coppery skin coupled with his pumping overwhelmed me; my body shuddered as I came with electric force. He pulled his hand from my mouth, yanked my body up from my sprawled pose and with rapid fire released his hot cum into me.

We leaned together as our breathing calmed and the heat of bodies cooled together. I turned and switched my resting place from his chest to the countertop and looked upon him with a glazed gaze.

He gradually buttoned his lab coat and once completely cloaked, he advanced with equal lethargy.

"What did you learn from our little experiment?" he asked, using a finger to draw lazy, yet tantalizing figure eights around my belly button.

I grabbed the wrist of the wandering hand, cupped his palm against my breast and responded, "It's all about chemistry."

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