Pleasuria

by John J. Jessop

  PLEASURIA

  TAKE AS DIRECTED

  JOHN J JESSOP

  Pleasuria: Take as Directed

  by John J Jessop

  © Copyright 2018 John J Jessop

  ISBN 978-1-63393-727-7

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters are both actual and fictitious. With the exception of verified historical events and persons, all incidents, descriptions, dialogue and opinions expressed are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Review copy: this is an advanced printing, subject to corrections and revisions.

  Published by

  210 60th Street

  Virginia Beach, VA 23451

  800-435-4811

  www.koehlerbooks.com

  DEDICATION

  To my beautiful baby sister, one of the strongest women I have ever known, who grew into a loving mother, awesome human being, and best friend; and for those late-night talks where we were able to somehow turn tragic memories into laughter.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CureStuff Pharmaceuticals was a biotech company located in Research Triangle Park, North Carolina, that developed treatments for depression, restless leg syndrome and erectile dysfunction. Dr. Wendy Thompkins, senior vice president of clinical trials, sat in the boardroom, struggling to stay awake as Dr. Richard Littlething, the five-foot-six-inch troll who was president and CEO of CureStuff, droned on to senior management about the company’s quarterly report. Wendy was a fifty-year-old physician who maintained the strict image of a successful executive, her posture permanently erect and her wardrobe a tailored, dark-blue pants suit. Tall and slender, with the long, athletic legs of a runner, she kept her red hair short and relaxed in natural waves. She had blue eyes, a smooth complexion, full lips and a small mouth that seldom held a smile, all of which remained free of makeup.

  Wendy ran the clinical trial for their new blockbuster drug for depression and was waiting for her turn to report on the study progress. She perked up when she heard Dick Littlething say, “We at CureStuff are sitting on a new drug for depression that has the potential to make millions. If the ongoing clinical trial shows that the drug works, we’ll be rich beyond our wildest dreams. Failure could mean bankruptcy and massive layoffs. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I just bought a forty-foot boat and a new Mercedes for my ex-wife, and I can’t afford to be looking for a job right now.”

  Dick turned to Wendy and said, “Now, Dr. Thompkins will give us a progress report on our very important clinical trial.”

  Wendy looked startled and leaned forward in her chair, grabbed the table with both hands and whispered, “Oh my God! That feels so good. What’s happening?”

  Dr. Lance Harden, SVP for research and Wendy’s current lover, glanced in her direction from his seat next to her. Her eyes were glossed over, accompanied by a bewildered smile. Realizing there was something wrong, he tried to cover for her by interrupting. “I don’t think that we have anything to worry about, Dick. As you all know, I developed the drug in my laboratory, and it showed great promise in the studies in depressed rats. And those rats were really depressed. We forced them to watch CNN 24/7. With a steady dose of our drug, the rats were quite cheerful by the end of the study.”

  Dr. Tanya Grayson, VP of the toxicology group and Wendy’s best friend from their time together at the University of North Carolina, spoke up. “That’s just what we need, Lance, a bunch of happy rats. Studies have shown that drugs that work well in humans generally bring in a lot more money than drugs that work well in rats.”

  All eyes turned to Wendy again, expecting her to speak. Instead, she leaned forward further in her seat, her body stiffened; she wore a far-off stare. “Ooooh, that’s nice; that feels really good. Don’t stop.”

  Lance turned and whispered, “Wen, what’s the matter? You look a little strange. Are you okay?”

  Wendy’s nipples were erect, and she felt a strange wave of heat flow down her belly and a tingling between her legs. She had an uncontrollable urge to squeeze her thighs together to enhance the delightful sensation. She broke out into a hot sweat, began to moan softly, and whispered, “Ooooh, yes, don’t stop, please, please.”

  The senior managers stared as she moaned louder. Lance was particularly attentive; he had heard these sounds from her before, but in the privacy of his bedroom. He turned and whispered to her again, more forcefully, “Wendy, are you okay? Is something the matter? You seem to be moaning, and not in a good way—at least not for here.”

  Without realizing it, Wendy had grabbed the edge of the oak table with both hands to steady herself for the impending explosion of pleasure, too far gone to hear Lance. She thought, What the hell is happening? I have to stop, focus, be professional. Give this stupid report. But oh God, that feels so good. I’m almost there.

  Lance was getting increasingly concerned as Wendy moaned again, louder this time, and said softly, “Ooooh my God! That’s incredible. That’s soooo good!”

  Lance smiled, shrugged, placing both of his hands on the top of the conference table. He did his best to send the telepathic message, It’s not me. Nothing going on here. See, my hands are in plain sight.

  Dick, preoccupied with trying to think of a catchy response to Lance and Tanya’s comments, noticed Wendy’s excited state. “Dr. Thompkins. It’s time for your report. Are you okay? You appear to be aroused, odd for a company meeting. Is it something I said? While it’s quite flattering, I’ve never seen my quarterly reports have this effect on anyone.”

  Dick saw her hands clinging to the table, unavailable for self-stimulation. When she didn’t respond, he suspected she was mocking him; it wouldn’t have been the first time one of his female colleagues had done so. He said more sternly, “This is not appropriate behavior for a business meeting. But if it must continue, perhaps you could share your secret with the rest of us.”

  When she still didn’t respond, he started to walk around the table towards her. He noticed that Lance, seated next to her, had placed his hands on top of the table in front of him. Dick wondered if this was some sort of magic trick. He was tempted to get down on one knee and look under the table to see if there was anything else that might be interacting with Wendy to place her in such a state, but that wouldn’t have been very professional. Stopping a few feet from her, he said in a much louder voice, “Earth to Wendy. Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?” His lips twitched into a smile at the thought.

  Panting, Wendy was very near climax and said in a shaky, far-off voice, “It’s okay Dick. I’ll be fine, in another minute or two.”

  Lance had seen this before—as a participant. Damn, she never gets that excited with me. What have I been doing wrong? Without realizing it, he mumbled out
loud, “Oh Lord, here it comes.” He winced, purposefully sat on his hands and looked away.

  Finally, Wendy let go; her entire body shook, her muscles contracted and she let out a muffled scream as the waves of sexual bliss flowed through her loins. “Aaaaahh! Oh God, Oh God. That’s sooooo good!”

  Lucy Chang, VP, Regulatory, said cheerfully, “Oh my! That looks amazing. I’d like some of that. Hopefully, it was something in the coffee; I had two cups this morning.” She seemed to concentrate and looked expectantly down at her lap.

  Lance said quietly in Wendy’s direction, jealousy in his voice, “Damn, woman. You’ve never gone off like that when we’re together. What’d you do?”

  Wendy collapsed onto the table, resting her head on her arms as she tried to collect herself, regain her composure and her strength. The boardroom was silent as the other senior managers sat in awe at what they had just witnessed. After a couple of minutes, Wendy raised her head abruptly, red with embarrassment, an uncontrollable smile returning to her face, and thought, Oh my God. Not again! To the room she said, “Sorry everyone, I don’t understand what’s happening to me.” With that, she jumped up from her chair and ran out of the room, headed for her office.

  Perplexed, Dick Littlething and the other senior managers remained still for a few minutes, trying to process what they had just witnessed. None of them had ever seen anything like this in a company meeting. Dick finally said, “Wasn’t that something? I think I had better go after Dr. Thompkins and make sure that she’s all right. I can’t decide if I’m worried about her or just a little jealous. But first, onto more important matters.”

  For the next ten minutes, the chief executive finished his quarterly report, and no one seemed to care. Once finished, he walked out of the room, with Lance and Tanya close behind.

  They found Wendy lying on the floor, her administrative assistant, Barbara Johnson, standing over her looking very concerned. Littlething asked, “What the hell happened? Wendy ran out of the boardroom after having some sort of fit, or seizure, or orgasm?” He looked at Lance and Tanya, and they just shrugged. “Is she all right?”

  This seemed a strange question, considering she was on the floor of her office, barely conscious, her breathing labored and shallow.

  Barbara, obviously dazed, confused, and terrified for her boss, said excitedly, “I don’t know what happened. Dr. Thompkins came running by my desk and into her office, sat in her chair and started making strange moaning sounds. She was too distracted to close her door, so I could see and hear everything. I thought she was having some sort of fit, or maybe she’d been possessed. I asked her through the open door if she was okay. When she didn’t answer, I got up the courage to go inside. I found her sitting at her desk, eyes glazed over, clutching the arms of her chair. And she was moaning as though she were about to . . . well . . . you know.” She whispered this last part, obviously embarrassed.

  Dick finished the sentence for her, “Have an orgasm? We’re all adults here. I assume we know what an orgasm is. She already went off once, during the business meeting of all things. Very distracting and inconsiderate. Interrupted my quarterly report.”

  Barbara Johnson continued, tearful, “I tried to talk to her, to ask if there was anything I could do, but she just ignored me. Her moaning got louder and louder, and then it seemed that she did, in fact, have a . . . well . . . you know . . . a happy ending. A very happy one based on the way she screamed and her entire body shuddered.” She looked around again and sheepishly resumed. “After a minute or two, it started all over again. This time the moaning was more intense and the scream even louder. I couldn’t believe it. Then a third round, even stronger than the first two. It was like the Energizer bunny, she kept going and going. Then she just collapsed and fell off of her chair onto the floor.”

  “My God. How many happy endings does that make? Three? Four?” Dick asked. “And in the span of ten minutes? Now I’m more than a little jealous. I have no idea what could have caused such a thing. It wasn’t anything in the air or water, because no one else in the room reacted like that. I certainly never felt anything.” He sounded disappointed. “I thought at first it might be Harden up to no good; he was sitting next to her, but his hands were on the table and his feet on the floor best I could tell.”

  To Lance he said, “You and Wendy are together, right? Is it normal for her to go off multiple times like that?” Lance just nodded, smiled, and shrugged, not willing to admit that he had never gotten a response like this from her.

  Barbara continued, her voice agitated and filled with concern for her boss. “I don’t know about that, but she doesn’t look good. I felt for a pulse, and I even placed a mirror under her nose and mouth like they do in the movies. She still appears to be breathing, but only barely. I’m no doctor, but my guess is that whatever it is, she needs help. I dialed 911 and the ambulance is on the way. Hopefully the paramedics will get here soon.”

  Lance, worried about her and a little sensitive about the fact that he had never been able to give her an orgasm of this magnitude or repetition—in fact, no repetition at all—said, “She’s in bad shape alright. I don’t know what the hell happened to her, but I plan to get to the bottom of this. It just isn’t normal. It would be terrible if she died from too much pleasure. Is that even possible?”

  Dick said, “I can’t imagine what caused her marathon of orgasms. But, whatever it was, I’d like to get a little for myself.”

  Tanya, disregarding the fact that he was her boss, said, “Dick, you’re an idiot. Lance is right. She looks like she might not make it.”

  The phone on Wendy’s desk rang. Barbara answered. “The ambulance is here? Yes, we’re on the third floor, Dr. Wendy Thompkins’ office. Send them up, now. Please hurry!”

  CHAPTER 2

  Dr. Jason Longfellow worked as a drug reviewer for the US Food and Drug Administration. He was forty-five, tall, and slender from routine exercise. Second-generation Dutch, he had blue eyes, straight, sandy-brown hair with a smattering of gray, and a sculpted chin. His prominent nose was crooked from having been broken once as a child, but his sharp smile and glowing white teeth provided enough of a distraction that most people didn’t notice. To his mind, he resembled Ichabod Crane of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, but women found his combination of intelligence, clumsy charm and innocence to be attractive.

  Jason was a good man, but he had his issues—difficulties dealing with stress, indecisiveness, a lack of understanding of the female gender, and a whopping midlife crisis. He was neurotic, OCD, and an introvert, preferring his own company to the point where he often carried on long conversations with himself, sometimes in his head, but often mumbling aloud. He lived a very stressful life—a government job involving review of highly-technical documents, a long, daily, nerve-wracking commute from Northern Virginia to Maryland on the Washington Beltway, the difficulties of marriage to a strong-willed woman and raising a family with three young daughters, each of whom had arrived with her own set of trying circumstances.

  Chelsea, Jason’s wife of twenty years, was of Swedish descent, a natural blonde with clear blue eyes, a perfectly formed nose, and smooth, unblemished skin. Jason had first fallen in love with her full, beckoning lips and slight, dimpled chin. Or maybe it was her body; he was a man after all. A slender woman at five-nine, she had well-proportioned and balanced curves, peaking in a tiny waist clearly defined against her perfectly rounded hips and buttocks. Her long, slender, sinewy legs didn’t hurt. Maintaining this level of fitness and allure had come naturally to Chelsea in her twenties, but by her mid-forties it required that she faithfully work out five days a week, usually early morning before work. She didn’t get much sleep, but she wore her exhaustion extremely well.

  Jason and Chelsea had met at Georgetown University Medical School when he was a graduate student in the pharmacology department and she was in the nursing program. He was amazed when this gorgeous woman with long blonde hair agreed to marry him. She was strong and independent,
traits that Jason admired in her—most of the time. She had started out as an intensive care nurse, but after a couple of years she had developed night terrors as the horrible tragedies followed her into her dreams, and she had moved into hospital administration.

  It was a typical Saturday morning not long after Jason’s forty-fifth birthday. Chelsea had made breakfast and the children were fighting in the other room when Jason lost it over morning coffee.

  He told Chelsea, exasperated, “I’ve been at the FDA doing the same job for twenty years and I’m bored to death. When you add in my twenty-four-mile, two-hour commute to work every day and the adorable little monsters that we call our children, I’m aging at a disturbing pace.”

  Jason told his wife how he loved spending time with her and the girls, and how concerned he was that they were growing up so fast.

  “Lizzy’s already thirteen, Lilly’s eleven and Lucy is five. It’s impossible to communicate with the teenager, and Lilly isn’t much better. They’re great kids, but you have to admit they’re a handful, and I’m becoming way too friendly with gin martinis with olives.”

  His midlife crisis was in full bloom as he spoke of how he missed being able to just jump into the car and drive wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He felt trapped in a deep rut, with no way out. He complained of being too tall, at six-seven, to fit into speedy sedans or sports cars. “Damned car manufacturers. I should sue them for size discrimination. Maybe I should get a motorcycle, a Harley, hop on it and head out West. I’d only be gone for a few weeks. What do you think, Chelse?”

  Chelsea just gave him her best disapproving stare, shook her head. “What do I think? I think you’ve lost your marbles. We have three daughters, and I didn’t do that all by myself. You don’t have time for a freakin’ midlife crisis. You can’t just hop on a motorcycle and ride off into the sunset, although you seldom shave on weekends and always look like you need a haircut with your hair hanging down over your ears, so I guess you do look kind of like a crazed member of a biker gang. And if you do ride off on a Harley, I’ll ride off in my much larger Ford Expedition, find you, run you over, and drag your ass back home. You are not leaving me here alone to raise our little angels.”