The Powder

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Female scientist experiments on an unsuspecting woman.
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If you are under the legal age of consent in your area (generally 18 years but sometimes as much as 21), or if you are offended by graphic descriptions of sex and sexual pleasure between adults, please do not read further. This story is a work of fiction and has no basis in fact to actual people, living or dead, or real life events.

Copyright © 2004 by Samurai Sword. All rights reserved.

Revision copyright © 2006.

*

Prologue

She gingerly tilted the small bottled and lightly tapped it with her other hand, watching the fine powder tumble out in tiny clumps. Even though she wore surgical gloves, she was especially careful not to spill any of the contents on her hand. When a sufficient amount of the precious substance was released, she placed the cap back on the bottle and pushed it firmly to ensure a tight seal. Next, she lifted the treated item a few inches off the countertop and rubbed the sheer fabric against itself. The powder worked in and would be almost unnoticed to the casual observer. Extending her arms out from her body, she walked into the next room and placed the object in the drawer. Hanging part of it over the edge of the wood, she then used her elbow to slide the drawer shut, deliberately leaving a small portion of the powdered fabric conspicuously exposed.

Returning to the countertop, she immersed her gloved hands in a small bowl of tap water. She next picked up a paper towel, patted her gloved hands dry and dropped the towel in the trashcan. She then poured the bowl of water slowly into the sink, aiming deliberately for the flow to go directly down the drain without splashing. The bowl and the plastic wrap on the counter followed the towel into the trash. Finally, she carefully peeled off the gloves, once more to the trash and then a thorough washing and scrubbing of her hands. Satisfied with her clean up, she lifted the plastic liner out of the trashcan and carried the bag with her out of the bathroom.

She paused only for a moment to reconsider the treated item and its position. The careful preparation ritual had allowed her to avoid thinking of the possible implications of what she was doing. Her mind quickly retraced her activities of the last few minutes, seeking any possible mistake or implicating item she may have overlooked. She felt a tingle of excitement as her mind wandered to the possible results of her plan, but she quickly snapped off that direction of thinking. "Don't get in a hurry," she admonished herself, as she turned to walk out of the room. Within moments she was down the steps and out the door.

Several minutes later, she was in the public library seated a secluded reading couch, pretending to read a newspaper. Her only stop on the way was a quick swing through a fast food restaurant parking lot where she tossed the plastic bag into the trash. The newspaper she propped up with her right hand merely served to conceal the small electronic device she was monitoring in her left hand. "It shouldn't be long now."

1.

"This would be so easy, if some people weren't so darned stubborn," Melissa Adair thought to herself as she switched off the ignition. Climbing out of her car, the young real estate agent took a long look at the house. The stately two-story Colonial would be the perfect cover photo for a real estate magazine. Large without being gaudy, sitting on a sizeable but not enormous lot, any number of buyers would ordinarily be competing against one another for this property. Except, ahh yes, except the asking price was significantly more than the market value of the home. Melissa had tried in vain to reason with the owner. Buyers may love the place, but they can find better deals elsewhere. She was beginning to fear the property would be a dead weight on the Burgess Real Estate list for the entire six-month contract.

Smoothing her skirt and straightening her jacket, she walked to the front door. Melissa stumbled and nearly fell as her right heel caught in the cobblestone walkway. "Agh!" she murmered aloud as she caught herself and continued. She wished she had just worn a pantsuit and loafers, as she normally did for a client visit to a property. Many times the client wanted to walk around the exterior of a house – a skirt and heels were fine for the office, but they didn't make for easy trips around shrubbery, through gardens, etc. Shaking her head, Melissa realized she was annoyed with the owner, not with her choice of attire, though the two issues were related today.

Yesterday, she had taken a call from a Mr. Jacobs, who said he was interested in the property. He told her he ran a small company in another state, but was originally from the area and was going to be in town tomorrow only and wanted to find a home for his retirement set for next month. He said he saw the Colonial on her agency's website and really wanted to see it. They set up a time to meet at the house. Melissa expected that Jacobs would quickly discover the place was overpriced. She did, however, immediately plan to pitch to him a few other properties in the area once they were done with the Colonial.

Melissa was reluctant to call the owner, Miss Hannover, but she needed to check that the planned viewing would be all right. She also felt she had to make another attempt at persuading her to reduce the asking price. As expected, Hannover refused to lower the price but she assured Melissa that the house would be immaculately presented for her arrival.

Before Melissa could hang up, Miss Hannover remarked, "Oh, I expect you will go out of your way to impress the client."

Through clenched teeth, Melissa gave a falsely pleasant reply, "Oh, I always do." Barely containing her feeling of being insulted.

"I know dear, I just want to make sure you also dress appropriately. My place is, after all, very sophisticated and I think it's very important for your attire to match in order to give a good impression."

Melissa felt the blood rush to her face as her knuckles went white around the tightly gripped phone receiver, "I assure you, everything about me tomorrow will be professional."

"Of course," Miss Hannover replied in a dismissive tone. She continued as if Melissa's original reply were unimportant, "I'm thinking something like you wore when we first met. You had a gray business blazer and skirt, black patent leather high heels. But they weren't too high as too be lacking in class."

Melissa had had enough! With the last bit of politeness she could muster she said, "Okay, I promise, that outfit or something like it and I will be VERY professional – as always. Now I really must let you go so that I can prepare for tomorrow."

"Thank you, Melissa. You are simply wonderful! Bye now."

And here she was today, standing on the front step and still annoyed. She had bowed to Miss Hannover's wishes on the style of her outfit. She fumbled briefly with the realtor box on the door but managed to get the code in correctly and extracted the key. She opened the front door and stepped into the foyer, pushing the door closed behind her. In the foyer was a large mirror.

Melissa took the time to check her appearance. At 25, one of the youngest realtors in her firm, her hazel eyes sparkled, with only the tiniest hint of crow's feet at the corner of her eyelids. Her high cheekbones accentuated her full lips. A few small pimples peeked stubbornly through her makeup. Though truthfully, only she really noticed them and only because they reminded her of her worse condition as a teenager. Her long, wavy light brown hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. A sky-blue three-button blazer and matching skirt hugged her 5ft 7in frame. Somewhat chubby as a child, the baby-fat had finally melted away thanks to her almost daily rituals at the gym. Melissa was not obsessive or vain about her looks but she could never forget being picked on as a youngster. This late-bloomer was determined to never revisit those painful days.

Melissa straightened her thin gold necklace and wondered for the fourth or fifth time if her top showed too much cleavage. Even the relatively thick button-down blazer couldn't hide the fact that she had a very ample chest. Suntan pantyhose and a pair of off-black, 3-inch suede heels completed her outfit. If asked her opinion of her best feature, Melissa would probably shyly name her eyes or her smile. No doubt her eyes and smile were very nice but deep down she knew she had fabulous legs. She was fine with the fact that she was girl-next-door pretty, instead of movie-star beautiful, but she was happy with the thought that her legs could compete with those of any fashion model.

"Well if a little T-and-A gets the client to buy..." but Melissa immediately cut it off. She corrected herself, "I'm a professional here to do a job and I KNOW how to sell houses. Now, if he just so HAPPENS to like the way I look, oh well, so much the better. But that's not my purpose." Of course it would be worth almost anything to be done with this pain-in-the-rear owner and also soak up the five-figure sales commission. "Okay, stop it!" she thought.

With an anxious sigh, Melissa turned and walked out of the foyer. She was several minutes early and decided to take a quick walk through the house to refresh her memory and perhaps practice what she would say to the client. As expected, the living room, kitchen, den and guest rooms were all immaculately clean and tidy. Melissa almost decided not to visit the upstairs, but she knew that she wanted to put on the best presentation possible in order to make Mr. Jacobs happy. Surely he would decide not to grossly overpay for THIS place, but she hoped she could impress him with her sales abilities and entice him to see some more reasonably priced homes.

Her shoes sank deeply into the plush carpet and her hips naturally swayed as a result of her high heels. Her hand glided up the cool, smooth mahogany banister. The stairs provide a view of the den with its ornate picture frames. The soft leather couch and loveseat matched perfectly with the beautiful stone fireplace and dark granite mantle topped with crystal candleholders. Melissa was envious and she aspired to have a place like this some day. "I guess I am dressed appropriately for this place," she thought, somewhat sarcastically, but she realized her mood had changed. Being alone in this quiet place and dressed as she was, was she suddenly starting to feel sexy? "Eyes on the target, girl," she whispered as entered the master bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was in flawless condition. The queen-sized canopy bed had a flowery comforter that matched the silk rose bouquet on top of the chest-of-drawers. A massive mirror was attached to the back of the dresser. Everything was perfect. Everything? Wait a minute. Was that a black spot on the front of the dresser? Taking a few steps closer, Melissa saw the mystery item was not a spot, but something hanging out from the drawer. As she stepped in directly in front of the dresser, Melissa realized it was the foot of a pair of black nylons.

2.

Carolyn Hannover could actually hear the blood pounding in her temples. Though she may have convinced herself this was merely another scientific experiment, she was always one of those scientists who could find herself very excited about a laboratory trial run. Only she wasn't in a laboratory and she would never dare write an article about THIS experiment for any scientific journal.

Shifting herself on the couch, she raised the tiny monitor even closer to her face. Anyone walking around the stack of books might now see the small device, but Carolyn figured she could quickly lower it before the person realized what it was. Besides, this was important and she didn't want to miss it. Carolyn's preparation for this day involved much, much more than the several minutes' effort she spent in her home this morning prior to Melissa's arrival.

Carolyn had been with Walker Chemical for the past 6 years. She was consistently rated as one of the most productive employees in the Nutrition and Food Division and received numerous pay raises that placed her salary far above most of her coworkers. They probably thought the company was extremely generous to her. Carolyn viewed things differently. She assessed herself to be in a desperate struggle for more freedom and much more significant accomplishment. She chaffed under the company's strict laboratory ethics rules and had become downright hostile with some of the corporate lawyers. Her bold experiments required innovative thinking and risk taking. The bureaucratic drones around her could never appreciate her vision, much less understand it.

Carolyn's bosses tolerated her deteriorating attitude because of her still solid productivity. They also had another reason for keeping her around, though they would never discuss it even amongst themselves. Carolyn was a very attractive lady and they knew she was a big part of the reason why many of the male research scientists remained with the company, despite their comparatively low pay. She was only 31 and maintained a slender, athletic frame. Her clear blue eyes, short jet-black hair and light complexion immediately called for attention. Her B-cup breasts were more than adequate for her delicate build and her heart-shaped rump connected perfectly to two very lovely legs. Research scientists were mostly a male bunch and the stereotype about them was true: As a general rule they were unattractive and unskilled with women. The relatively few female research scientists had a reputation for lacking beauty. Carolyn was the exception to the rule. She accentuated her sexuality by regularly wearing short skirts and high heels to work. For her part, Carolyn cared very little about the affect she had on her coworkers. She wore what she worse simply because it pleased her. Whenever one of the men would work up the courage to make an advance, she would brush it aside without a second thought. The men seemed incapable of being truly frustrated and many of them settled for simply adoring her from afar.

Carolyn just never gave much thought to a serious relationship. A husband, or even boyfriend, would consume time that she'd prefer to spend on her work. A sex drive? Yes, she had one, but she was satisfied with pleasuring herself when necessary.

Until three months ago, Carolyn was giving serious consideration to starting her own research firm. Her primary concern was that the business side of a start-up would seriously detract from her time in the lab – not to mention the sucking up she'd have to do to get investors.

What happened three months ago? It was vivid in Carolyn's memory. Late one night in the lab, she stumbled across an amazing discovery. She quickly decided she would not share this discovery with the company. After a handful of lab experiments, she deleted all the related documents from the company server and replaced them with false reports showing this particular project to be at a dead-end. Then she hid the product of her work and smuggled it out of the lab. The drones in legal and marketing wouldn't have a clue how to proceed with this wondrous discovery. Carolyn already had some ideas and she wasn't afraid to take bold steps. Today would be the first and she was very excited.

On the tiny screen she could see the subject was in position. At this moment, she felt the needle-sting of her underdeveloped human compassion. What if the powder hurt or even killed the subject? After all, Melissa wasn't even a willing participant. Carolyn still had time to grab her cell phone and make a quick call to stop her. "No! This is for the advancement of science. Even if she dies, which she won't, she's served a good purpose." All these jumbled thoughts occurred in an instant and were gone. Carolyn watched Melissa.

3.

Melissa peered down at the nylon. The rest of the house was in perfect order. This was a noticeable exception. Could something so minor be a problem? It was highly unlikely that Mr. Jacob's decision would turn on this small bit of clutter. Still she pondered. It might distract him just enough to break his concentration on my presentation. Then I might not be able to talk him into seeing some of the other places I planned. She remembered her training, "An agent doesn't touch the owner's possessions without permission." Ha, as if I could call her up, "Miss Hannover? It's Melissa Adair, your agent; you've got a piece of clothing sticking out of a drawer. Would you mind if I put it back in place?"

At the library, Carolyn wanted to jump through the screen. Her hand was actually trembling. "What are you waiting for?" see whispered with an inhaled voice.

Look, Carolyn is very neat with this place. She clearly didn't realize she'd left it hanging out. Therefore she would never notice that it had been put back in place. Melissa blurted out loud, "Stop wasting time!" She grabbed the dresser drawer with her right hand and gently picked up the nylon with her left. As she slid the drawer open, she absently wondered if this was a stocking or pantyhose in her hand. With the drawer open completely (I thought I was just going to open it enough to shove the hose back in?) she quickly saw that it was pantyhose. And that pair wasn't alone. Only a few loose pair were scattered about. The rest, it must have been a couple dozen pair, were still in their packages – very pricey, upscale brand packages. "My, my," Melissa whispered as she dropped the black hose into the drawer and pushed it shut, "expensive tastes all around." It was then that she then noticed a tingling on the fingers and palm of her left hand. Absently, she rubbed her thumb across her fingers as she raised her hand to her face.

Carolyn smiled quietly to herself. The tiny spy camera in the bouquet of roses wasn't wired for sound and she hadn't heard Melissa's comments, but she wouldn't have cared anyway. She had what she wanted. All her preparation was paying off. Melissa had apparently noticed something, based on the way she was staring at her hand, but Carolyn wasn't worried. She knew the powder absorbed through flesh very quickly. Now it was time to move.

Melissa's brows wrinkled and her upper lip puckered slightly as she studied her still tingling hand. She thought she noticed some gray powder. Talcum powder? Baby powder? Something else? As she looked closer, she could no longer see anything on her hand. The tingling gradually ceased. "I hope Jacobs isn't late," she sighed as she turned and walked towards the door.

4.

"Eleven o'clock, time for my client," Melissa thought as she paced on the steps outside the front door. Had it gotten warmer outside? She intended to meet him at the driveway. As if on cue, she saw a vehicle approaching the house and as it got closer, the driver turned into the driveway. "Here we go." But Melissa already felt something wasn't quite right. The vehicle was unhesitating, as if the driver was very sure of the destination. That didn't fit with a prospective client who had never been to the house. Besides, most people don't rent Jaguars.

Upon closer inspection, Melissa realized the driver was none other than the owner, Carolyn Hannover. "Oh great, I don't need her looking over my shoulder and this'll probably make it more difficult to get him out to some other houses." That feeling of annoyance was back, but Melissa plastered a smile on her face anyway and waited.

Did Melissa's face already look a bit red? The two-minute drive from the library felt like hours to Carolyn. This was exciting. She shut off the ignition, opened the door wide and swung her left leg out, placing her 3-inch designer heel on the driveway. Realizing she was forgetting her brief case, she leaned over to the passenger's seat to grab it. Her awkward position caused her skirt to ride up to the top of her thigh. The result was, for a moment, Carolyn's long, shapely leg was on full display to Melissa.