Chapter 60: Of Doctors and Killers

by John Dent

Uri put down her pen, shook her wrist to ease the writer's cramp that had developed there and then pinched the bridge of her nose. 'Christ, those forms!' she thought having finished completing them at last, 'What didn't they want to know?' She picked up the bundle of paper, straighten the pages up and slipped them into an envelope ready to drop back to the Zoological Society on her way home. The one thing that was worrying Uri about this, apart from the question of effectiveness, was how much it was all going to cost. There wasn't all that much in her bank account at the moment (her love of designer clothing saw to that) and, in any case, a large withdrawal would bring questions from her father and somehow she couldn't see the Old Man approving of her using substances of... well, dubious to say the least, legality. As Uri straightened up after dropping the envelope into her hand-bag, her video-phone rang. "Trenshaw and Associates, how my I be of service to you?" she asked crisply and efficiently.

"Hello, Uri," replied the dishevelled miniaturised image of Dr Jules Fitzsimmons, "Er... would you mind stopping in at my place on your way home this evening?"

"No, of course not, doctor... I'll be glad too..."

It was beginning to get dark when Uri rang the bell of the doctor's front door. She'd already stopped off at the Asian Zoological Society where she'd handed the forms over to the pretty receptionist who had informed her, in answer to Uri's question, that she was not at liberty to discuss charges as only Master Asa did that and, regrettably, he was out of the building at the moment. Uri had smiled and left... and now she was waiting for the good Doctor Jules to let her into his lair.

The door eventually opened and Jules, the last of the dying sunlight reflected in his glasses, indicated that she should enter. Today he was attired in an old dirty t- shirt, a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, a slipper on his right foot and a dilapidated sneaker on his left. Uri, smart in her designer label outfit of a micro mini skirt, woollen polo-neck with holes for her breasts to protrude through and jewelled nipple clamps carrying one of her initials on each, looked him up and down and sadly shook her head. "I know," he said apologetically upon seeing her reaction, "I've just no interest my appearance."

"What you need is a wife," Uri responded.

"Are you volunteering?" the scientist riposted.

Uri flung up her hands in mock horror.

"That's how all the other girls react too."

"So why don't you buy yourself a slave or three?"

"Once my Orgasmatron is on the market and selling well, I will... but until then, I need every penny for my research. But soon... soon I'll be rich... and then, just maybe, I'll go and see your father, Uri Matsumoto, leaving you with no choice in the matter..."

"And if your machine works and you've become fabulously wealthy, I won't mind at all..." replied Uri only half jokingly

It wasn't long before Uri was undressing in the large, untidy room that Jules used as his workshop. She had insisted that he close the curtains before she started which had rather puzzled the man so Uri had been forced to explain about the Tazer Killer and how she was being followed by the creep; she'd also gone on to mention how this was all affecting her sexual performances.

"Hmm... that's unfortunate... I'll have to make adjustments in the data. Tsk! I really don't need these sorts of irregularities, Uri - you were supposed to provide me with a nice, stable base line for comparison purposes."

'Oh, excuse me!' Uri thought to herself, 'Don't bother to say anything about how concerned you are for me... just be worried about your damned data!' But, of course, she never said a word, instead she simply removed her suspender belt and draped it over the chair, being careful to avoid the three or four day old supper tray left there, as she did so.

"Back up into the frame as last time?" she asked, nodding towards the outwardly unchanged device that dominated the room.

"Hmm? Oh, yes... just like last time please."

Uri hopped up onto the bench that formed an integral part of the Orgasmatron Mark II and lay down, squashing her breasts beneath her. "Hey, is this the Mark IIA now?" she asked in jest.

Jules, perfectly serious, considered the matter before finally replying that it probably was. Uri snorted and inserted the wired bit into her mouth before allowing Jules to bind her wrists and ankles to the framework of the device. Next came to electrodes attached to her nipples and temples and, finally, he slipped in the two penis-like probes, one into her vagina and the other into her anus.

"And now to switch on," Jules stated proudly, surveying the naked and helpless girl before stepping back and twiddling with a control panel. Uri glanced at the front of his pants and sighed with disappointment for not a hint of a bulge showed there - the man was simply unbelievable! No sex drive at all... apart from his love of machines. She shuddered briefly, recalling her joke about her feelings for marriage to him earlier - no sex, ever! Shit! A loud bang, a shower of sparks and a plume of smoke brought her mind back to the present with a jolt. "What the fuck?" she muttered through her gag.

Looking a tad sheepish, Jules muttered something about a crossed wire and how it would take him awhile to fix. "Murth mercal foord!" complained Uri.

"Oh, don't worry... it won't be that long." An idea struck Jules and he moved over to an old holo-vison receiver, only partly dismantled, that was sitting in a corner. Using his arm to sweep the accumulated rubbish off the top of the unit, he wheeled it over to a spot just before Uri's face and switched it on. "There - stop you from getting bored," he said, gently tapping her on the backside twice before turning back to his still sizzling control panel.

Uri looked at the tube - it was showing one of the early evening soaps that she found so mind-numbing... and what was worse was that Jules had forgotten to turn the volume up... either that or he'd 'borrowed' the speaker for some other project at some point in time. With nothing better to do, Uri settled down to make out what she could of the program. It hadn't gone on for long when the advertisements began, most for the usual stuff - fancy shaped dildos, dungeon equipment, leather harnesses... and then Uri found herself looking at a face she was sure she knew... but she couldn't just recall from where. It was a scene, clearly taken at a party, and a young girl was wearing knickers, of all things and, from through the material covering her pussy, a thin plume of smoke was rising. Flames spluttered into life and the girl, now clearly in pain and with her pendulous breasts bopping about like wild things, started to hop about on the spot while trying not to drop the drink laden trays she was carrying. The scene changed to show couples engaged in various couplings and, much as Uri looked for the face she knew, the girl with the knickers never reappeared. At last the advert ended and some prose scrolled across the bottom of the screen suggesting that the viewer might care to subscribe to the Quayle Sexploitation Channel just as Uri managed to put a name to the face - Jenny Patterson! 'So, that's what happened to the Head Accountant's wayward daughter, ' Uri mused, 'a sex slave at a resort-come-production facility. Not a bad career move for a young tearaway... apart from the fact you can never resign... '

After another twenty minutes or so of tedium, Jules pronounced himself satisfied and tried to switch on the Orgasmatron again... and this time there was no repeat of the pyrotechnics display, merely the satisfactory hum of working electronic equipment and the slow pinging from the two oscilloscopes mounted near Uri's head. Pushing the holo-vison receiver out of the way, Jules picked up a cane before swishing it experimentally though the air. "Are you ready, Uri?" The girl nodded her consent and, whoosh, down came the cane, crack, across her buttocks. The red glowing jot jumped on its journey across the face of the monitor to be followed shortly afterwards by the green... a pause followed and then a bolt of power electrified Uri's body making it arc away from the surface on which it lay. More pleasure followed as the cycle started to repeat... but, unlike the first time she'd been here, this time things were not regimented and predictable. This time the pleasure and pain varied in intensity and the timings between them also changed. 'This is much better, ' though Uri surrendering her body to the machine.

Seated behind his control panels, Jules was frantically taking notes, his eyes scanning the readouts before him and hardly ever taking in the bucking, sweating body of the girl strapped inside his machine. "So far, so good," he muttered recalling the charred remains of those women who had been the test subjects on the Mark I version. Dimly, Jules was aware of a thickening taking place inside his pants and a spot of cold dampness spreading out against his skin. He smiled to himself - success with his machines always did this to him... no wonder he cared more for his devices that he did for any human being.