Accoutrements

"Now, how does this work, then?" inquired Fenway as he held a phallic-shaped object that was lavender and translucent. There was a protuberance lower down, like a smaller branch growing out of the trunk of a very small tree. The top of the device sported what resembled a bunny's head, complete with ears, painted eyes, nose and rubber whiskers.

His partner lounged her brown, lithe body next to his and propped herself on her elbow facing him, "That is my 'Rabbit,'" she explained.

Fenway felt a small bump at the lower end of the device, near the battery well and pressed it. The wand buzzed to life, the whole of it vibrating low.

"You've got it on the first and simplest setting," said Randa reaching for the wand. Fenway's face tried to read none of the surprise over hearing the implications of more settings of increasing complexity to come. Curious to see the others illustrated he allowed her to take the device from him. She began to manipulate a couple of levers at the bottom of the wand and the branch and the bunny's head began to gyrate and not always together or in the same direction. Another setting and the bunny's head twisted and the branch simply buzzed furiously in place, another one and the opposite occurred.

"Interesting," Nigel remarked as Randa handed the still pulsating wand back to him. He saw the two sliding levers at the bottom of the device one marked "A" and the other marked "B" and quickly surmised that one controlled the branch and the other the Rabbit's head independently.

Dr. Nigel Fenway had been formulating a hypothesis since his last marriage that women were slowly figuring out how to do away with all need for men and this device seemed to be a good bit of evidence to support that theory. Women no longer needed men to support them financially. They had political power. They didn't need to marry. Hell, they didn't even need to stay heterosexual. If they wanted babies, there was artificial insemination or surrogacy and adoption if they didn't want to ruin their figures. He'd hoped that there was at least one last bastion of demand that men could supply to women, but the wand in his hand that he was manipulating seemed to belie that hope.

Yet there he was in the bed of his assistant at Threshold plundering her "toy drawer," a drawer that according to Ramsey, all single women had nowadays. Standard equipment. She had a decent enough collection. Nothing major. Nothing that required an outlet at least. Nothing that looked like a blunt instrument or a weapon. He wondered how long she'd been amassing these sexual accoutrements.

Dr. Randa Franklin had been hired after weeks of his haranguing Caffrey of his need for more staff. Caffrey finally acquiesced once Fenway discovered that the aliens had found a way into the food supply. She selected Dr. Franklin and only let Fenway review her C.V. He chafed at that. He should have been in on the selection process from the beginning. When he got the woman's dossier, he felt it was a done deal. Caffrey was being her usual control freak self again.

As usual, Caffrey was thorough in her investigation having done extensive background checks on the woman. Caffrey was glad that Dr. Franklin was first and foremost extremely competent. Fenway didn't need "mice attendants" or "test tube washers" as he so graciously put it. He needed a real assistant whom he would not have to constantly think for and clean up after. He knew of her. Their field was an extremely small world. He'd read her papers and research on virology, her specialty. He knew of her excursions to remote and dangerous areas of the world to research and investigate new diseases and the mutations of old ones.

Caffrey was not only satisfied by her work product, but with how she'd shown she could handle herself in difficult situations. Nigel Fenway was not the easiest person in Threshold to work with. Most folks only visited Medlab under duress because he had clearly marked it as his domain. It was a struggle for Caffrey and Baylock at times to assert their authority there. It would help that Dr. Franklin had worked with some characters and egos herself, apparently survived and still stood in their good stead. And the isolation of working in the Threshold project should not affect too aversely someone who had to hole herself up in such out of the way places in the world for months on end, getting by with airlifted monthly supplies and having to make long trips to depots to retrieve them. At least they were providing state of the art technology and an almost unlimited budget.

Nigel stared at the moving device in his hand. Whatever his bedroom skills, and he felt he could still rise to the occasion in more ways than one, Fenway couldn't do what this wand was doing now. He knew his limitations. He found the button that had activated it and pushed it a second time with his thumb. The wand instantly stopped in a slightly twisted position. He returned it to her nightstand drawer and rummaged around for something a little less advanced and perhaps a little less intimidating. He soon found an object that resembled a silver bullet wrapped in the same soft, pliable silicone stretchiness that covered the mobile parts of the Rabbit but was an opaque black instead of the Rabbit's transluscent lavender.

"Ah! Now that's a 'Bullet.'"

Geez, they could be a bit more creative with the names. Nigel saw that there were two holes in the smooth, rubbery, stretchy stuff. One held the Bullet. The other was empty. He wondered what went there since it was so small. Franklin soon demonstrated the possibilities when she inserted her whole hand through the second opening.

"Oh!" gasped Fenway. He didn't need a cock-ring yet. At least he hadn't needed any of that sort of assistance his last foray out into the world of dating and sex. But, as his lover would have put it, it had been a minute. He had sort of given up women to pursue his field. Besides, after three marriages he had thought he'd had enough or at least that womankind had had enough of him.

But there he was having the ring that had accommodated his lover's small hand being slipped snugly over his middle finger so that he was palming the Bullet. Randa pressed the small, black button at the top and Fenway felt the little, silver object charge into life. He was a bit relieved that she hadn't decided to utilize the appliance further down on his anatomy. But he realized, when she shifted onto her back and stretched out next to him, that he was to do so on her.

Caffrey, the White, shrink chick who'd hired her, would probably explain this as Randa trying to put Nigel at ease by giving in to his need to control the situation. That was part of it. She remembered some of her former lovers' reactions to her toys and the collection was not as extensive nor as interesting a one as it had evolved into currently. And it had only gotten so due to increasingly long lags between sexual encounters with actual men.

The other part was it was nice to be serviced, to be treated. Too many lovers expected her to be the pursuer, to do all the work. And that was great when she was in the mood for that. But she knew that sexually, she was submissive at heart and loved being seduced, pampered, catered to. Too many guys thought her race somehow masculinized her into a virago. She'd given up on White guys for a while because it seemed too many of them wanted a Black domme instead of a sex partner. Then again, nerd dudes were weird. Scientist dudes even moreso.

So she took some advantage of the man-of-the-world façade that Fenway constantly wanted to project and allowed him to take a lot of the lead during their sexual encounters with some prompting and direction from her at times. Besides, theirs being the small world it was, she knew about his past marriages. Indeed, she was hesitant to get involved with him in the first place because of that. Well, that and it usually wasn't a good idea to become sexually involved with coworkers. But Threshold was not your everyday work situation.

It seemed that everyone was pairing up finding whatever physical comfort they could, everyone but Ramsey and Baylock and the latter had been married for 20-some-odd years. Ramsey had tried out his hard-sell propositioning on her when she first got there. Randa had deflected them all with jokes and quips. Fenway advised her to ignore the guy and not to take anything he said to heart.

"That's his M.O. with women. You should have seen him with Caffrey."

But this wasn't her first time dealing with overzealous, socially-challenged suitors. She had been in academia for a while. Any hint of estrogen in the science departments seemed to be like chum in the water to the guys there. Plus, she wondered if Ramsey weren't compensating for his dwarfism. Then she heard dribs and drabs from various sources about his off-duty activities and figured he was in no need of reassurance on that aspect of his physicality.

Still, for a while, it seemed that there was a mini tug-of-war between the two men over Dr. Franklin. Ramsey'd sit next to her in the commissary, offer his condolences over her job assignment with Fenway and try to get her to rag on her boss. She was always discreet though and skillful at joking with him while not revealing anything detrimental about the project, Fenway or her views about Threshold. Ramsey always left feeling good but not learning anything new.

Fenway began to have her accompany him to senior staff meetings in a show of support and strength and Ramsey would sit next to her and try to get her on his side. Caffrey didn't like Nigel's move but was even more satisfied that she'd hired the right person to be Fenway's assistant by how the woman handled these politically sensitive moments. Dr. Franklin seemed to know just when to offer her input and how so as not to overshadow Fenway nor look like his lackey nor have her presence there feel intrusive. While Caffrey was impressed at how adeptly the woman handled the situation, she hoped that her presence wasn't becoming a bone of contention between Ramsey and Fenway.

The long hours and strict, close working conditions had gotten to them both. Socializing with outsiders was frowned upon, though, obviously Lucas and his new wife got a pass. The project could not be compromised in the least. And they did get along well in the lab. They shared a snarky, cynical, smart-assed attitude about a lot of things including tight-assed Caffrey and the affair they both knew she was having with Cavenaugh who was equality devoted to his duty. Those two suited each other.

It greatly helped that Fenway did not have to baby-sit her but didn't have to worry about her trying to usurp his authority in Medlab. She took over some of the more mundane routines, she took-over the writing of reports to replace the expletives with more scientific and academic language and directed the other assistants so that he could be freed for more serious work. And it was good to have someone else knowledgeable enough to bounce ideas off of.

Randa had soon taken to coming into the lab early in the mornings to work alone. Her brain was all fresh and dewy and she got the best and first of the morning's coffee. Fenway seemed to prefer working late into the night when her brain was fried and she desperately needed the change of scenery to the small house she had nearby with all of her things and her music. While she was working alone, she'd plug her mp3 player into her laptop and rich soul or old school rap music would spill out of the speakers like audio marmalade. She made sure that her tunes were done and her player put discretely back into her backpack by the time Fenway came into the lab.

What she didn't know was that sometimes Fenway slept in one of the Medlab beds when he was working late. Usually, he was so tired that it was a small miracle for him to wake, shower and slip on some scrubs to get to his lab on time. But one time, he actually woke a little early, tended to his ablutions and followed the welcomed smell of freshly brewed coffee to the breakroom where he poured himself a cup.

He walked into their shared workspace in the Medlab offices and heard Randa matching a woman's rich contralto coming out of the speakers of her laptop. The singer sang about being told she was hopeless, "as a penny with a hole in it." Dr. Franklin was looking at a sheaf of papers and doing a two step sort of dance that Fenway did not recognize. She seemed to defy gravitational and fulcrum laws as she shuffle-stepped with her back to him even more remarkable with the three inch heels she wore. It seemed at times she was about to break her ankle, but then she'd instantly shift her balance and would attempt an even more intricate maneuver.

Still, the heels and the pencil skirt she wore showed her legs to best advantage. Firm, full calves rose from slim ankles into what promised to be lean thighs that peeked through the kick-pleat in the back. One thing she could never hide no matter what she wore was her round, shapely behind, her "Black girl butt" as he'd overheard her calling it once. Her clothes seemed to lovingly envelope, hug and drape it no matter what she wore. He'd seen many of the men at Threshold staring at it as she passed them in the hallways, obliviously. Ramsey especially seemed to have a very definite fixation.

Over her charcoal grey pencil skirt, she wore a tight black, long-sleeved turtleneck sweater that he knew would accentuate the perkiness of her breasts even with her back to him. Wait? When did he begin to notice her breasts?

When she turned slightly to her side, Fenway saw that she had her copious Afro tied back with a 70s-style, op art scarf in stark black and white patterns. He remembered her telling him about asking Caffrey about hair stylists in the D.C. area that were approved for Threshold employees to patronize. Caffrey had handed her a list and Franklin asked if any of those salons could do her kind of hair. Caffrey looked very puzzled for a moment and then glanced up at Randa's giant, The-Revolution-Shall-Not-Be-Televised cloud of hair that haloed her face.

"Oh well… I don't know exactly if they could do your…but I'm sure," the head of Threshold began to stammer.

Randa chuckled at the woman's discomfiture, "That's fine. I'm used to doing it myself anyway. Not too many salons or day spas in some of the places I've had to work."

"No, no!" Caffrey had insisted, "You are a valuable a member of Threshold. You should have your needs met like everyone else here. I'll get right on it and get you a list of salons by the end of business!"

Fenway would have loved to have seen that.

Dr. Franklin decided to try out a small spin and whirled to find her boss standing in the doorway with a steaming hot cup of the coffee she'd just made in his hand watching her. She was happy she had placed her mug on the desk next to her laptop as she read/danced/sang or else she'd have been wearing the contents all over her sweater at that moment. It was all she could do to keep the papers in her hands and off the floor.

"Doctor Fenway! I, uh, I was just reviewing the data from last night!" she quickly placed the reports next to her laptop and scrambled to stop the song currently playing, "Um, you're early!"

"One of the few privileges of running the Medlab. Interesting way you have of reviewing data," apparently, she had not noticed that he had been staring at her; he decided not to let her in on that fact. He walked to his station, still in the same state of disorder he'd left it when he retired.

Randa quickly calmed herself. Fenway could not relish that he'd caught her unawares. Okay, he did, but she had to minimize its effect on him. Couldn't let too much go to his head. Besides, all she was doing was playing good music when she thought she would not be disturbing anyone. Her stuff was better than that noise Lucas and Ramsey blasted at their workstations. And so what if her stuff was so good it made you want to move a little? It wasn't as if she were trying to get a Soul Train line going in the middle of Medlab.

"It helps me ease into my day. Gets the thinking juices flowing," she took a firming sip of coffee.

"The dance too? What is it? I thought I recognized it but…"

"Depends on where you're from, but most folks call it 'stepping.'"

"Looks deceptively simple."

"It can be. It can also be complicated as hell depending on the skill of the partners."

"It's a paired dance? I assume you were not leading."

Okay, he was feeling a bit too smug now. Time to reign him in a little and regain a little of the ground she'd lost.

"I could teach you a few steps if you want."

Fenway turned in his chair towards her, "What? Right now?"

"Sure. Why not? Nothing major. Just a few steps before anyone else comes in."

Nigel didn't know what made him rise and face her when he should have told her she wasn't at Arthur Murray and get to work on those reports. Maybe it was the anticipation of slipping his hand around her small waist and holding her. She brought up another soul song of slightly quicker but very midrange tempo. Instead of assuming the usual paired positions she interlaced her fingers into his hands. He felt slightly disappointed.

"Okay, here's the basic step," and they started into a much more simplified version of what she had been doing before. At first, he counted his steps, then Randa admonished him to stop that and instead feel the rhythm of the music and let that guide him. Once he seemed to have gotten the hang of that she began to explain how various "tricks" were performed off the basis of that original step illustrating a couple that she had been doing when he'd interrupted her. As in most paired dancing, it was the woman who performed the tricks, but it was the man, as she explained to him, that signaled what was to be done next, what direction they were to go in.

"But you're not ready for all that," she said when she released his hands and walked to her laptop to turn off her music and stow her player.

"Hmph!" he huffed to himself and partly at her. Surely, he could get himself up to speed in no time to partner her properly. Okay, what exactly did he mean by that?

"'Stepping' you say, huh?" He was now staring at his computer's screen at various readouts, "Funny. I've never heard of it."

"Of course not," Dr. Franklin threw at him over her shoulder, "It's something Black folks do."

It was almost inevitable that this should happen.

Nigel decided to tease her a bit. He liked teasing her and working outside the usually three point sexual box. Besides it let her know who's boss, who had the control and who had to wait and anticipate. He ran his palm with the buzzing Bullet down the rim of her ear and along her jaw line and then bent down to kiss her working his tongue into her hot mouth. While he was doing that, he ran his hand down her arm into the palm of her hand and letting the device vibrate there for a bit. Her hand closed on his and squeezed it.

When she released his hand, he continued its journey over her body. Back up her arm he skimmed over her breasts, barely touching her nipples. She gasped into his mouth.

"You like that," he hoarsely whispered to her. Not a question, less a statement, more a demand. Nigel began to knead her breasts more firmly which elicited a moan from her confirming his assumptions. The Bullet traveled further down her torso, along her ribs and circled her firm, little belly. It was interesting and arousing, touching her, feeling her almost once removed. It was even more arousing watching her reactions to his ministrations.

The device was getting closer and closer to her center. She was beginning to breathe heavily now in anticipation, but he was going to make her wait. Fenway took a detour down the leg farthest from him. Kneading her thigh, tickling the back of her knee, massaging her calf, running it over the bottom of her foot, jumping to the one closest to him and continuing back up her body in reverse order. He then began to knead her inner thigh. It was already moist with sweat. She had slightly parted her legs and was grinding her hips into the sheets of the bed.

"Look at me!"

Randa's eyes, which she hadn't realized were shut, snapped open. Above her, she saw Nigel's intense gaze. His blue eyes, almost totally dilated, bored into her brown ones that were in the same state. She felt his erection against her hip.

"Before I take you, I want to watch you come. I want you ready for me." She nodded to indicate she'd heard and understood him. Fenway then slid his bulleted hand from her inner thigh to circling around her clit, careful not to place the device directly onto it. Let her get used to the sensation first.

Randa arched her back and let out a brief cry. She knew what Fenway was doing and was pleased he was so skilled. Most guys would have planted the device directly onto her button and it would have been painful in her aroused state. Nigel also understood that he had to keep the Bullet moving and not let it rest on any one spot for too long lest the sensations weaken in intensity.

He paid attention to how she moved her hips to indicate whether or not she wanted more direct pressure and he watched her face (she had closed her eyes again, but she knew he was watching) for her reactions. He played with her, moving the Bullet from her crotch to knead the inner thigh adjacent, rounding it to her firm backside, frustrating her slightly before returning it back to her pussy. His eyes were locked on her the whole time.

She loved being able to abandon herself to his ministrations. The sexiest thing he ever said to her was that he didn't want her faking anything. He didn't care how she looked or what she did as long as the reaction was real. He'd had women fake with him. It had done neither of them any good. Randa had been hesitant at first. Her past parnters said they wanted real responses and then didn't question the porn star performances they got. But when she had tried to slip a little soft-core cable action past Nigel, he brought her up short.

He loved watching her reactions to his actions. It wasn't just that she was feeling pleasure but that she was feeling pleasure that he was providing. He was doing this to her. The scientist, the professional observer in him, was fascinated. The man in him relished watching his very attractive lover, lose her mind, forget her strictly tailored decorum, get off all because of him.

He shifted his hand again. The Bullet was nearer his palm. He cupped Randa's pussy so that it was directly in contact with her clit while he fingered her. She was drenched and her breath was coming in moans and whines. Her tits quivered with the shock of her chest sharply rising and falling. It was all turning him on exceedingly. A large drop leaked from the tip of his penis and mingled into their shared sweat on her hip.

She was close; he could feel it. He picked up the pace, plunging his finger inside her as far as he could manage. Lying alongside her, he felt the tension in her body build. She no longer made any sounds, her breathing coming in short, shocky gasps. His breath was ragged, warming and moistening her ear. Her movements were less languid and fluid. They were quicker and jerkier. The longer these motions lasted, he knew, the bigger her orgasm would be. Her face had relaxed from the squinty frown it had held. Her eyes were still closed but now it seemed her expression was simply that of expectation.

Randa felt as if her body were a taut string about to break at any moment yet didn't and was being pulled ever more tightly. She wondered if her limbs would fly from her body. She was centered on the fiery, intense pleasure Nigel was giving her.

Randa's breathing seemed almost non-existent for a few short beats and her body went rigid. She then let out a loud cry. She felt a tidal wave of pleasure shoot forth from between her legs and to every particle in her body. Nigel felt his finger being squeezed hard in waves and his hand was drenched in her flood.

He removed his hand, grabbed the readied condom from the nightstand and sheathed his cock. She was still coming when he entered her. He felt her all along his shaft. His groans mingled with hers as he worked his hips to get as much of him inside her as possible.

Randa felt like she was nothing but a pool of sex for Nigel to bathe in. She was definitely out of her head and deeply into her body and the body that was in her. There was no mental energy or wherewithal to fake or stage anything at this moment. She was all need and desire now. She grabbed Nigel's ass pulling him harder into her while she twisted and undulated her hips wantonly to take in more of him.

Nigel dug his fingers into the mattress underneath the pillows to keep his leverage on top of the wildly gyrating woman underneath him. Sweat drenched them both as his lust made him pick up his pace. She felt so good! This was incredible! He didn't care if he drowned in her!

He perceived a change in her movements underneath him. Was she going to…again? Did she even stop from the first time? Oh god! He increased his thrusting and soon his cock was receiving the same treatment his finger had gotten before. It was more than enough to send him over the edge. He cried out as he spent himself inside her.

They were both done. He had collapsed on top of her. She was too out of it to even feel his weight much less care. Her body felt like a wet noodle. When some of the circulation returned to his brain and limbs, Nigel rolled off of Randa and disposed of the used condom into the wastebasket next to her bed before slumping down onto his back next to her. Randa was revived somewhat by the feeling of the air cooling and drying the sweat she was covered in. She turned her head to look at him.

Fenway's gray hair was plastered to his forehead. His face was still flushed red with the goofy, languid look of post-coital contentment and exhaustion. Her afro was smushed in some places, but her eyes were bright and her skin still dewy and she wore the same blissed-out expression.

He remembered the Bullet on his finger. He lifted his numbed hand. The rubbery band had torn somewhat leaving the device dangling from his finger. Randa ripped it off the rest of the way and clicked the button several times. Nothing happened. Randa opened it to check the batteries and found several tiny wires had come loose and were free inside the device.

"Dammit. Can't take you no-place!" Randa replied as she flung her latest sex toy casualty to join the condom, "You owe me another Bullet."

"You owe me acupuncture for my hand. I think I got carpal tunnel from that thing!"

She snorted. Nigel looked at her profile rising from the billowy pillows on her bed. How often had he studied her features while she slept next to him? He'd often kissed her full lips, slightly parted in slumber just lightly enough as not to wake her.

He put his arm around her and gathered her to him. She folded herself into him, breathing into the rosy nipples on his chest. They simply held one another. It was a very loving, romantic gesture on both their parts. It suggested vulnerability which both had fought for so long to conceal from one another.

Neither one of them now gave a damn.