Separatrix Pt. 01 Ch. 03

Chapter Three

Jake studied the computer screen, peering over the professor's shoulder, trying to decipher the graphics the app was displaying as the linguist tweaked parameters. Nathan-- Jake couldn't remember his last name-- hunched in his office chair, pursing his lips as he played with his scraggly beard, studying the computer monitor.

"This is puzzling. Not getting much." Nathan clicked on a menu and tapped some keys. "Oh well. Sending it up to the data center. These AI beasts use a humongous amount of memory. But the clips are short, so it won't take too long. This is all you've got?"

Jake had met Nathan in a faculty lounge earlier, introduced by colleagues when he'd asked if anyone knew a linguist. Nathan was a messy person: wrinkled clothes and uncombed hair, an equally disordered office, to which he'd led Jake when he heard the request. Jake had had to step over piles of books, magazines, papers, souvenirs, and who knew what else to move around to where he could watch what the linguist was doing. The piles gave the room a slightly musty, old-library scent, not pleasant.

A window popped up after a minute. Jake leaned forward next to him and tried to decipher the app's results. "Interesting," Nathan commented. He continued stroking his beard. "You said she spoke these sentences in her sleep?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." Nathan leaned back in his chair, forcing Jake to trek back around and take a seat in front of Nathan's desk after moving a pile of papers to the floor. "And she didn't tell you where she's from?"

"She says she can't. I'm not sure why."

"Well, she sounds northern European to me, Germanic or Scandinavian, and I speak at least three of those languages. It's strange the first pass didn't find anything like that. But see this K-means?" Nathan turned the monitor around a bit for Jake to see. "It at least found a decent set of phonemes. Except they're split into two clusters, which is weird."

Nathan had input Jake's recordings into an app he called ROSIE, some tortured acronym connoting the Rosetta Stone. He touted it as ML-based, optimized to identify spoken languages, and stated that he'd been collaborating on it with other researchers. The big tech companies had similar tools, but Nathan went on at length during the department happy hour on the superiority of his team's engine. As they trekked later down the halls to his office, he continued about how ROSIE had the advantage of using the thousands of field recordings linguists had been making for decades. He claimed it could identify hundreds of languages, including some obscure native American and Southeast Asian ones that were now extinct. "And you met this girl how?"

"Um... at a disco." To Nathan's skeptical side glance he quickly explained how he'd given a tech talk at an event there and she'd struck up a conversation afterwards. "We talked a lot and... sort of... hit it off." He did not, of course, mention the incredible sex.

"But she won't say where she's from? No clues? Her name?"

He felt embarrassed about her names, or rather her disregard for them, and that he'd gone along with her despite that. "Tahsin," he said as a compromise.

"Not familiar with that one. Family name?"

He shrugged. "I think she might be a refugee from somewhere." It was a lame excuse, and she'd denied it.

Nathan sighed. "So you picked up this girl at a disco-- okay a scientific talk at a disco-- and you hit it off and-- oh." An alert appeared on his screen. "Oh, I see." He worked at the keyboard. "This is why ROSIE is superior to those big tech models." Soon two dialogue windows opened. "Interesting. You said she was talking in her sleep? Very interesting." Nathan continued to study the screen, pulling up more windows with curves and graphs.

Jake watched but didn't understand any of it. "And?"

Nathan sat back. "Your girlfriend was speaking in two different languages." Jake suppressed the reflexive response to say she wasn't his girlfriend. "Listen," Nathan said, and clicked a button in one window.

Out of some beat up old speakers came her voice. The words really did sound almost English, almost Shakespearian. Nathan clicked a button in the other window. Her again, but totally different. Jake couldn't even say what continent the language came from. "Great! Okay, that's a start. Which languages?"

"That's the very interesting part. The computer identified one, but not the other."

"That's progress."

'Well... first, your guess about her accent doesn't seem far off. See this tree?" He pointed to a diagram. "One language is definitely Germanic. The computer suggests Frisian, maybe Danish or a koinê between that and Dutch, but not strongly. A koiné is a sort of upper-class creole."

"That makes sense."

"Except it's none of those. My collaborators at Oxford have a more focused model of Germanic samples. I could send it to them."

"Um, maybe later." He was feeling more guilty about recording her now that he was actually getting information about her from it. "What about the other language, the one ROSIE identified?"

"Oh, that." Nathan didn't look happy. "Must be an artifact. I thought we'd got rid of those long ago. I mean, it is another language, that's clear..."

"But?"

"But... the computer says it's Akkadian. That can't be right."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Nathan shook his head slightly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Akkadian. Two Ks."

"Where is that? I never heard of that country."

"Because it doesn't exist. At least not anymore. Not since the Bronze Age."

"I think she lived in the Middle East for a while. Maybe some people still speak it?"

"Some archaeologists, maybe. They teach ancient Egyptian in a lot of departments. I think a couple of other languages from that era. From cuneiform tablets."

"She did say she was an historian."

"There you go. That's a clue. Does she look Middle Eastern? Iranian?"

"Hard to tell."

"Got a photo?"

"Um." He reluctantly took out his phone and showed Nathan the picture he'd taken, obviously in bed next to her. He'd already mentioned that she'd been talking in her sleep, but even so he now felt more guilty.

"Whoa. I see why you want to find out more about her. Could you maybe get her to meet me? We could talk? I speak several languages besides the Germanic ones."

The people in the lounge who'd pointed out Nathan had mentioned that. They didn't know how many languages he spoke, six or eight at least, maybe ten. But it looked like that one photo had given Nathan non-professional reasons to want to meet her.

"She, uh, is a very private person. Probably won't want to."

"Does she have a sister?"

# # #

She met him in front of the student cafe, which this evening had turned itself into a student tavern and hangout, but that wasn't their destination. He'd picked the place only because they both knew it and it was not far from the workshop. When he'd told her he had a LASSO event he needed to attend she'd insisted she should join him.

She was playing the historian card. "It's your fault," she said. To his dumb look she added, "When you told me about how fusion development collapsed, I did some research. It turns out you're right." She patted his arm, as if he were a bumbling amateur astronomer who'd stumbled on a new planet between Venus and Earth, but now the pro was taking over. "Your group should be a good place to start talking to people. Find out what really happened."

He reluctantly agreed to bring her. It was an informal event, guests allowed. At least, he thought, meeting some members of the collaboration and seeing the workshop would help to settle any remaining fears she might have regarding what he did there.

"You know," he said to her as they walked from the cafe, down the main path, to the workshop, "you didn't have to dress up for this. I mean, it's just an informal celebration we like to have when we ship out a detector. You look unbelievable, by the way."

He wasn't flattering her. Top to bottom she wore a crisp white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and pumps: a business outfit. She carried a small purse instead of her usual pouch. But the blouse was slightly translucent over her braless breasts, the skirt barely reached mid-thigh, and the shoes were black leather platform heels, almost goth, with straps that matched her real gold necklace, bracelets, and earrings. She was, as usual, smoking hot.

"I'm adapting to your culture." As if she'd put on a toga or ceremonial headdress.

"Should we come up with a culturally acceptable name for you?"

She eyed him slyly. "You're starting to get the hang of this. Try me."

"Let's see." He looked her up and down. "Ms.... Ms. Something, since you're sort of dressed for business. Ms. Pepper? Because you're so hot. But maybe that's too corny. Ms. Bedwell?"

"That's not exactly subtle. You're horny for me, I can tell."

"I'm always horny for you. But especially the way you look now."

She stopped walking and faced him, her hands on her hips, a faint but suggestive smile showing. "Should I bend over for you later?" She scanned around. "Or now?"

"I was picturing you on your knees, actually. Ms. Horn. To start."

She nodded. "Ms. Horn can be available later." The smile turned smug. "I guess you're stuck with 'Jake' for the evening. As always."

They arrived at the overgrown shed that was the workshop. He pointed down a narrow sidewalk that led around to the entrance to the shipping bay, the big space where they always held the parties.

Of course she made an impression on the team when they walked through the door. Jake realized in that moment that he hadn't prepared adequately for the team's reaction. Not even close. Though he couldn't imagine how he could have prepared, either them or himself. Every head, male and female, turned to her. He was used to seeing men's heads turn whenever they walked into a restaurant or bar. With a cohesive group the effect was even stronger. They all fell silent, leaving only some forgettable pop music echoing from somewhere. She'd taken over the room instantly, effortlessly.

She walked toward the nearest small cluster, four men, as if she were the collaboration's owner. She effectively owned the men just by noticing them. He caught up with her and introduced them and their roles to her. "This is Ms. Horn, an associate of mine. Allegra Horn," He invented her first name on the spot. She did make him horny as fast as he'd ever experienced.

"UT Austin?" she said to Henry Lu, their plasma physicist.

"Yes, yes," he answered. She'd already made his day.

"Weren't people working on fusion there? Exciting work. I'm wondering..." She waved her hand around to indicate the workshop and by implication why he was here rather than there.

He shrugged. "Plasma is plasma. The funding dried up for fusion."

"I'd love to chat about that. And other things." She stretched her arms out wide and high as if she'd just finished a workout. "What are we drinking tonight?"

"Cheap wine," Jake answered, "red or white?"

"Whatever."

"I'll get you some... ah... Ms. Horn." Said by a tall guy behind Henry, Ted something.

She took Henry by the arm, ignoring Ted after flashing a smile, and walked off with Henry, already in conversation.

She was also ignoring Jake. He didn't feel anxious, not at all. He didn't think Henry was her type, and certainly not that guy Ted. Although he wasn't sure what her type of man might be, or if she even had a type. Was he her type? He did wish he'd been a bit more thoughtful about introducing her to the people he worked with, some for years. Maybe he should have done it gradually, a few colleagues at a time. He just hadn't expected to suddenly feel so alone. She was only a few yards away.

Allison appeared at his side. "My oh my, Jake. Is this why we haven't seen you in a while? Wherever did you find that one?"

"She just appeared. I mean, at that talk I did at the Hive. And," he had to add to salvage some small measure of integrity, "I've been working. On a side project."

"You mean the test equipment you borrowed? Is that what it's for? Must be interesting. By the way, you want to be squeaky clean on buying that, and the other surplus equipment. DOE has put the whole budget under a microscope."

"Noted. Thanks. But I'm just buying up the collab's junk, so that should help the budget."

"Doesn't seem to matter."

Henry and the newly christened Allegra, Jake saw from across the space, were now at the detector. It was all packed up, so just a giant crate, nearly twelve feet high. Henry put a hand on the plywood and pointed upwards to illustrate some point. Others had joined them. Men were surrounding her.

Ted brought her a glass of red. She downed it in two gulps, gave the glass back to him, and gestured for another. She did this while talking rapidly the whole time. She also took a cellphone out of her purse and worked on it as she talked and listened. It was the first time he could recall seeing her with one. She'd texted him a few days before, so that must have been the source. The text had been three words, "me emergency only".

He left Allison and got himself a glass of wine and some snacks. He shook some hands, had some conversations, but they were all just distractions from following her as she worked her way around the room, and watching all the other male eyes following her. He noticed in particular that she spent a long time talking with Allison.

"Jake! There you are."

"Herk."

They shook hands. Herbert "Herk" Keller was the principal investigator-- that is, the boss-- of LASSO. He was a big man, close to two meters tall and no one would call him skinny. He'd earned the nickname in college as a lineman on the varsity football team.

"Where've you been?" the big man asked. "We've missed our resident wizard around here."

"You're the wizard. Turning leaden proposals into gold. But I've been working, don't worry. You've got the shop running so smoothly I didn't want to interfere."

"Oh, that's all on Allison. I keep my hands off too. She wouldn't let me touch anything anyway. I just keep the money flowing. Speaking of which, we need to sync up on the road map for the next-gen detector. I hope that's what you've been working on."

"I've got some ideas. Still early stage, of course." As he was talking he realized that the work he was doing on the "concentrator", his name for his side project, could be applied to the detector. "I think we can improve the collection efficiency. Or the accuracy. There'll be a tradeoff."

"Great. Let's talk soon."

"We'll really need to wait for the data from first light." 'First light' was a term borrowed from optical astronomy, the first time the observatory produced real, calibrated, data. And some of the data did come from photons.

"That's too late. I need to start lining up DOE funds sooner. They're pushing me. I'll have Cynthia set something up. Oh, hello."

Allegra had just walked up to them.

"Um, Herk, this is Allegra--" he had to pause a second, forgetting briefly the family name he'd created for her-- "Allegra Horn. She's... visiting. Allegra, Herbert Keller, our PI."

Allegra looked up and bestowed a million dollar smile on Herk, who was at least two heads taller than her even in her heels, and reached a hand up to be shaken. "Pleased to meet you..." Jake now understood when she paused and looked away briefly. She was looking Herk up in something she'd read-- her photographic memory. "Doctor Keller."

"Just call me Herk. Please. I hate that doctor crap."

She held his hand a second or two longer than necessary. "You're my first footballer. I'd love to interview you about your experience in that sport. It's always seemed to me like the gladiator battles, or the warrior competitions from earlier ages."

"Allegra is a historian," Jake explained.

"It was ancient history for me, and I wasn't very good."

"But you were all-conference second team, weren't you?"

The surprise and pleasure were evident on Herk's face. "It wasn't a top-level conference."

"Still..." She took Jake's arm. "Dr. Calvino, you were going to give me a tour of the facility. So nice to meet you, Herk."

As they walked away he said, "I think you know more about the people on the team than I do."

"You're a low bar."

"Yet here you are on my arm." It had been a relief to feel her touch again and a huge ego-boost to feel the gazes on his back as he walked away with her. He should have stayed modest, but he couldn't help himself.

"I'm not attracted to you because of your social skills. How would you rate yourself as a tour guide?"

"I'm sure I'm even worse at that, but luckily there's not much to see. Come on." The party was winding down anyway.

He led her back along a wide aisle with large test chambers on either side, then the clean room and more labs, letting her look in, or sometimes step in where possible, and describing what each one did. There really wasn't much to see, since the team had only just started staging the components for detector #6.

They turned a corner into the office area. Along that aisle was an office with his name on it. She stood there and waited.

He got out his keys, opened the door, and let her into the tiny space, motioning her to the one guest chair. Instead, when he moved around his desk and sat in his chair she pushed some papers away and made herself a seat sideways on the end of the desk and leaned back on her elbows. He pushed away a keyboard to give her room. "People don't use chairs where you come from?"

"You said you want me." She looked around. "It's neater than I expected."

"I don't spend that much time here anymore."

"Because it's winding down? The way the fusion industry apparently is?"

"No, just the opposite. It's going into steady production. That's number five crated up out there--" he waved toward the loading dock-- "of fourteen planned. I'm working on the next gen."

She crossed her legs, which pulled her hemline, already high, up another inch or two. He wondered if she'd bothered to put on panties underneath, and would have bet she hadn't. Nor had he forgotten for a second her casual offer earlier to bend over or get on her knees for him. And here were those knees, right in front of him along with most of her excellent thighs. It was tempting to just lean forward and put his lips on her there. And then he would end up as the one on knees, his face between those thighs and pressed against that bald mound waiting just under the edge of her skirt. Which would be fine. Very tempting.

The music from the party ended. He heard voices echoing from the hallway. She sat back up with her legs hanging over the side of the desk. "I'm a bit confused," she said. "I thought you said you weren't working on fusion. I don't mean right here. I was talking to your friends--"

"Colleagues."

"Whatever. Anyway, in general a lot of people were supposed to be working developing nuclear fusion, but no one really is."

Again asking about fusion. Maybe, he thought, she was a journalist, or even an industrial spy. "The funding dried up. All over."

"That's what Henry and the others were telling me. But the data I saw..." She never finished the sentence. Her attention went to the one decoration in his office, a poster-sized photo of detector #1 being lowered into the lake, it's big, hourglass-shaped frame half in the water. Their first successful installation.

She spent way too long studying the image. "I don't know what data you've seen," he said, trying to get her attention back. She continued staring at the photo, apparently ignoring him. "But the data I saw said it might work."

"I meant historical data," she replied at last. "Of course fusion works."

"You know that? How would you? Why were you pumping Henry and the others? I thought you were an historian. Are you a journalist?"

"This is history. I'm... let's say... getting it firsthand, before your historians start messing with of it."

Another statement that didn't quite make sense. He tried poking at another anomaly. "And I see you do have a cellphone."

"Oh. Yes. You people love those things, and it seems you really need one here, don't you? But what you saw was mostly for effect. People like it when they see you taking notes about what they say. I did get some leads, though. I'll keep working. The mystery is why I can't find anything going on here in this..." her attention returned to the poster, "... area."

His attempt to somehow clarify her remarks was interrupted when the voices, female, came nearer and Allison stuck her head in the still open doorway, with another woman just behind, Sana.

"Oh, hi." Allison took in the scene. And the legs. "Sorry. You're back here? We're closing up now."

"That's, um, okay. We've been talking."

Allison's skeptical frown told him what kind of intercourse she expected would follow the verbal kind. Sana moved closer. She didn't look at him. All her attention was on Ms. Horn, not in a friendly way. Their eyes met and locked on each other for longer than seemed polite.

"Hi, Allegra," Allison said to clear the air. "Sana, this is Allegra. You know, I mentioned her earlier?" To Allegra, "It was really good meeting you."

"My pleasure. Thanks so much for talking with me. Very insightful to hear your perspective."

Allison returned a shy smile. Like the men, she had been charmed. "Jake, I'll leave a couple lights on and let you set the alarm."

"Got it."

The women left. They listened while footsteps faded into the distance. "Who was the Asian woman?"

"Sana? Astronomer."

"You fucked her."

"Ah--"

"Didn't you see the look she gave me? And Allison, by the way, would spread her legs for you in a heartbeat if you let her. She's totally in awe of you."

"Well--"

"She said you basically invented the project."

"Just the concentrator."

"Which, per her, is the heart of the project, and which you refused to give up on when everyone else had."

He could only shrug in response.

She sat up and spun around toward him, resting a high-heeled foot on his chair seat. He could have easily put his hand on her wonderful leg, even reached up into the shadow under her skirt, now almost at the top of her thighs, to verify her underwear status. He held back, didn't even touch her, sensing that the lack of contact would frustrate her just a little. He liked that thought.

"And Sana. You're okay with fucking a co-worker?"

"We had a relationship. Happened a while back. Post-grad. Didn't last long and was over before we met again here."

"And you were fucking her again here, before me."

"What? No!"

"No? That look she gave me. Wait, why not? She's delicious. Not that Allison isn't also a treat. And you said you like smart women."

"Um--"

"Your culture is so strange. On the surface it's stuffed with sex-- media, ads, celebrities. Holy shite, everywhere you look. Porno. But underneath there's almost nothing happening. Weird and fascinating from an anthropological point of view. But it must be painfully dysfunctional."

In the distance a door slammed shut, echoing in the bare space, leaving behind dead silence. She used her foot to turn him in his office chair away from the desk, hopped off into the narrow space between his desk and the outer wall, and stood before him. He looked her up and down, able finally to stare as long as he wanted and really appreciate her. "You are so fucking sexy."

She posed for him, first just standing there, then looking cool with her butt stuck out to one side, then tough with her hands on her hips. "So," she said, "can I assume that I will be the first person to have sex with you at work?" She knelt between his legs.

"Well... this work." He could have listed some of the semi-public places he'd had sex: a blow job on a swing in a dark playground near a bar one night; standing up fucking on the downstairs patio of some entrepreneur's hillside mansion, while above on the deck the party continued; and yes, at work, in a lab one evening in grad school after an experiment had failed, when he and another student-- they'd been flirting for weeks-- decided to retrieve some benefit from the evening. And others. Not Sana, who'd been too shy to do anything, even kiss, outside the bedroom with doors all locked and the shades down.

She unzipped him and opened his belt. "You need more sex at work. You all do." She pulled out his cock, mostly hard already, and mouthed it. "You could stick a sword in the sexual frustration tonight and it would stand up on its own, it was so thick."

Sword? Not fork? Another almost-clue. "You do that to men," he tried to explain, "because they wanted you and you kept teasing-- ah!" Her tongue always did just the right thing to make him want to jump in the air. "You know you could have had any man you wanted there."

"And you could have had any woman there. In an alternate universe you do. You know that, right? What do they call it?" She paused with the tip of her tongue tickling him right at the base of his cockhead.

"You mean the many worlds theory? That's-- that's just a theory. Maybe not even that, just an interpretation... or... or..." She had a way of making the tiniest touch paralyze him.

She paused to pull his pants all the way off. "More than a theory. In another time stream Sana is the beauty between your legs, and she's doing this." She gave him a series of basic sucks in a steady rhythm that would have ended in his orgasm if she'd kept going. It could have been her interpretation of Sana as a fellatrix.

"S-Sana was never into... into..."

"Really? But that's in your time strand. Maybe she's learned. Or maybe I teach her." Down again she went on him. He struggled to stay in control. "Or Allison. Don't tell me you've never fantasized about Allison down here." And back down.

"I-- don't--"

She stopped driving him crazy for a minute. "That's the beauty of the alternate time streams. They let you have all these universes. If there's some kind of negative emotion, some fear that's trying to make you stop, you can just ignore it, because you know that there's an alternate universe in which you do stop. So you don't have to."

"You believe that?"

"I know that. Any time you think, 'Should I have done X?', in some other strand of the time stream, you did. So the question for each of us is not should I or shouldn't I do X. You will do both. The question is which of your possible selves you want to become."

"What if all of my selves in every alternate universe want to do the same thing? What happens then?"

"You mean like how right now every possible version of you wants to come in my mouth?"

He laughed and groaned. "At least some of me wants to come inside you right now. Yes."

"Now you're beginning to understand. And in another alternate universe you are right now shooting your cream into me. But not this one. In this one..." She began some serious, seriously hard to resist, but impossible to identify, things to him. Fellatio was too clinical a name for what she was doing. Blow job too vague and crude. She was focusing her whole body and mind on making her mouth the most wonderful place any man would ever want his cock to be in. She pulled him deeper and deeper into her, walking her lips down his shaft until he felt the back of her mouth on his tip. Then just as slowly she pulled herself off him while maintaining a strong suction, as if she wanted to keep him as deep as possible but an invisible force field was causing her head and shoulders to float away. And gripped him with every part of her mouth while this was happening as if his cock was her only lifeline.

He had no idea how she did all the things she did to him, but he wanted even more. "Wait," he said when his cock left her lips, "I want to be in the one alternate universe where the guy fucks you now." It was her turn to laugh. "And I don't care about the other universes where you're doing one of those other guys."

"Oh, there are no time streams in which I'm doing any of those guys. I have standards. Maybe Sana. I saw a lot of sexual desire bottled up inside her."

So, he thought, she was bisexual? Not surprising, and maybe another clue.

"But I was just using a basic professional technique to draw the men out," she continued. "Taking advantage of cultural weaknesses to obtain information." Her head bent down again.

"Wait, are you sure-- ah, ooh, ooh, woman, please!" She stopped for a second. "Are you sure you're not a spy?"

"Oh dear, you've found me out. Now I will be forced to-- how do they say it in those spy movies?-- terminate you with extreme prejudice." She gave him several deep, passionate sucks that left him straining. "In this case I'm extremely prejudiced in your favor." More intense sucking. "And clearly you are an asset. Isn't that the term?" She stood. "But your ass has been setting in that chair too long. That calls for some extremely extreme prejudice. You like my outfit? Yes?" He couldn't speak. He could only nod. "You like my skirt, I can tell. Here." She bent over the edge of the desk with her legs apart. "I admit it, I'm a spy, you've got me. Make me confess. Do your worst."

He got off the chair, went behind her, and pushed her skirt up to her waist. She definitely had the nicest rear end. "I was right. You're going commando."

"You think I'm a commando? Not a spy?"

"When someone doesn't wear any underwear it's called going commando." He was not surprised that she didn't know that bit of slang.

"Oh, perfect! Yes, I'm a commando spy and you've entrapped me!" She reached out to grab the far edge of the desk and pulled herself tighter on it. "Please, sir, you're so much stronger and smarter than me. Please don't-- Aggh!"

Even as she trussed herself to be royally fucked she was hurling sarcasm back at him. He'd had enough. Way up into her cunt he pushed as deep as he could go. Her tall heels raised her butt up enough that he hardly had to flex his knees to get his cock right on target. He grabbed her by the back of her collar, probably choking her, and banged her ass into the desk. Of course it had to hurt and she'd be bruised tomorrow but she was asking for it. And of course she was sopping wet.

He fucked her as hard and fast as he could. She yelled and yelled, along with words maybe in that Akkadian language. He thought they were alone, but if anyone was still in the building they were sure to hear the rapturous female shrieks that echoed in the cavernous space. But even if someone was still around, there was no way Jake was going to stop even if a crowd showed up at their still-open door.

This was not a blackout orgasm. She stayed aware through it. It was always a fascinating experience to make this woman come, and fucking her here, where she plainly wanted to be fucked, was especially captivating. She swung her head around this way and that as if she were taking in everything about him in the way he arranged things, the books and papers on the small bookshelves, the poster on the wall of the detector. He also understood that she was taking this space of his as her territory. After he'd serviced her in her cunt to her satisfaction she was going to finish him off in some way that he knew she already had planned. And after such an impossibly intense experience, this office would never be the same for him.

She put her cheek down on the tabletop and rested her head that way. "Just fuck me," she said. She stayed that way for some time, but eventually she started humming and soon was back up, still humming, with her eyes closed. She kept pumping herself on him. "You men have no idea, none at all, how fabulous it is to have a pussy." He seemed to have her in a state now in which every little thrust he made, especially if he was able to slide just the right part of his cock over a certain, extremely sensitive spot inside her, gave her a little orgasm. He made his drives into her as deep as possible to draw out each orgasm and make it even more intense, then moved back to that spot to do it to her again. She babbled something, maybe in that Akkadian language, so he increased his pace, just keeping himself buried in her and bobbing in small, quick strokes on her cervix. She whimpered. She gasped. He was sure he was giving her more than she could take, but she got control of herself and took a breath. "More," she said, "More. I can't take it. Fuck, this is way too much. Do it harder. I need to explode. Do it."

He pulled her up. One hand went under her blouse and found a nipple, the other went down and found her clit. He pressed and pinched and fucked. That did it to her, what she wanted and what she couldn't take. He didn't think it was so much the extra stimulation he was giving her-- she was maxed out physically anyway-- but that he made it clear in the way he held her that he was in control, both inside her and outside her.

She didn't black out but she did go limp. He helped her sink down to the floor, where she sat against the filing cabinet under the desk. It couldn't have been comfortable, but she had the most beatific vision on her face, as if she were floating on a cloud up in the most rarified regions of heaven. She aimed that vision at him and then at his still very stiff cock and he knew what he needed to do. With a small step his cock was at her lips, which parted immediately to let him in between and onto her tongue. He focused on the small sounds of pleasure she made and the way she sighed around his cock, as well as the obvious way she relished his meat in her mouth, to tune his fucking of her face to maximize her pleasure.

He could have gone on servicing her this way forever, but she started stroking his balls as they bobbed forward and back with his pumping. Then she took his cock in her hands and slowly extracted it and stared at it as she stroked it. She looked up at him and he knew what she wanted. He tried to resist. He tried to concentrate solely on her face and satisfied smile and hold out. But her fingers seemed to be coaxing his testicles directly to give up their treasure, sending the message skin to skin, bypassing his brain.

Of course he'd tried it once or twice with other women, but this was different. He'd seen the wistful desire on the other men's faces at the party. It was a heady, ego-exploding thought that while they'd been on their way home he'd been roughly driving his cock home in the sex bomb they'd been lusting after. And now, while they were maybe in their beds, maybe wanking to her memory, the beauty of their fantasies was right now wanking him, forcing him to give... give...

It was his turn to yell, mostly a growl, as he sprayed his cream over her flawless cheeks and forehead. She directed his spurts over her face as if she were dispensing some fancy lotion out of him. His knees weakened and he had to grab the edge of the desk to hold himself up. She finally put his tip to her lips and kissed up the last drops.

He sank down opposite her in the space between the desk and the shed wall. He'd thought she was a perfect beauty before. Now, his seed trickling down her face, no words arrived to describe her. His brain felt as squeezed empty as his balls. She smiled in even more satisfaction, if that were possible, at what she'd just done with him, for him, to him.

The message, also beyond words, sprang from his subconscious: his concentrator, the whole design, the principles, the test plans, all of it that he'd been developing. It all appeared in front of his eyes in his empty mind, eclipsing even the erotic mess she continued to display for him. His doubts evaporated. Of course it would work. He only had to make it real. In this timeline.

He needed to do it. He had to finish the concentrator. If she judged him this special, then he needed to show the world that he was. And show himself.

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My thanks to my beta readers, @AlexFourways, @MormonJack, and @shelleycat1.