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                                    Linda Loring
                                Advanced Biology Lab
                          I work as a technician in a health research laboratory.
                 We end up handling some pretty scary stuff.  A lot of the work we
                  do has to do with AIDS, and we also have some defense contracts
                 involving research into ways of counteracting biological warfare.
                  All in all, we work with a good many substances no human should
                     come in contact with, or even take a chance on breathing.
                          Substances like that are handled in a special section of
                  the laboratory.  No one is allowed in the room when it's in use.
                  Sealed containers are passed in through a sort of miniature air
                      lock, and once the inner door of the lock is opened, the
                 containers are opened and the contents moved around using special
                                          mechanical arms.
                          The mechanical arms are manipulated from a control room.
                   From the control room you can see into the lab through thick,
                  airtight windows.  You can't see into the control room from the
                    lab, ordinarily, because the laboratory area is brightly lit
                               while the control room is fairly dim.
                            The whole set-up is amazingly high-tech.  The eight
                 mechanical arms can reach anywhere in the lab, and their "hands",
                  each with a "thumb" and two "fingers", have tremendous strength
                   but are also capable of precise movement, even in microscopic
                  dimensions.  Normally we manipulate the arms and their hands by
                 putting our own hands into special glove-like fixtures and moving
                  our own fingers the way we want their mechanical counterparts to
                 move.  Larger or smaller movements require separate controls, and
                      a whole sequence of movements can be programmed into the
                   computer, which then controls all movements.  We can interrupt
                      the computer's control if something unexpected happens,
                    reposition things manually, and tell the computer to pick up
                                      right where it left off.
                          There are six videotape cameras in the lab, and they can
                  be directed to cover any part of the room from almost any angle.
                  The special video recorders are in the control room, and when we
                  need to make a presentation to someone outside the lab, signals
                  from those recorders can be fed into a standard VCR and recorded
                               in full color onto regular videotape.
                           All of this equipment is, as I said, normally used to
                   work with deadly viruses and other toxins.  But, as I recently
                          discovered, it can be put to other uses as well.
                          The discovery took place late last Saturday night.  I'd
                  been working on an experiment using several laboratory rats.  It
                  wasn't my job to give them food and water, but the weekend staff
                  sometimes "forgets" to take care of the animals in the contagion
                   room.  My rats were already pretty weak, and if they went all
                 weekend without food and water, they'd probably be dead by Monday
                    morning, and I'd have to start the experiment over from the
                           I'd fretted about the rats all day, and finally, after
                 coming out of a late movie a little before midnight, I decided to
                  go over to the lab and check on them myself.  I pulled into the
                    parking lot behind the lab, noticing absently that there was
                    another car parked down at the end of the dark lot.  I did a
                    double take when I recognized the car - it was one of those
                  little Mazda two-seater jobs, and it belonged Kristin, a/k/a the
                                            "ice queen".
                         Kristin was the newest of the research biologists, having
                  come to work at the lab only two months earlier.  She was a real
                 whiz with the computer system that controlled the mechanical arms
                 in the contagion room, but that wasn't the attribute she was best
                   known for.  The severe clothes she wore couldn't hide the fact
                   that she was really stacked, and I had to admit that her pale
                  blonde hair and her face weren't bad either.  All of us females
                   in the lab, researchers and technicians alike, were jealous of
                  the way the men had drooled over her at first, but from what I'd
                  heard, none of them had been able to get to first base with her.
                  That was why some of them had begun referring to her as the "ice
                           Usually when one of the women's cars stayed in the lot
                     all night one could infer that she was spending the night
                 elsewhere, after a successful date with one of the men who worked
                  in the lab.  That seemed unlikely, from what I knew of Kristin's
                 reputation, but I decided that her personal life wasn't any of my
                                 business anyway, and went inside.
                           The outer door of the building used a regular key, and
                   then I had to use first another key and then a specially coded
                   magnetic card to get into the secure area of the lab.  By the
                    time I'd made it through the last door I was aware that the
                  lights were on in the contagion room.  That didn't surprise me a
                    lot, because the weekend staff was often careless about the
                     lights, too.  Still, I was curious enough to slip into the
                     darkened control room in order to see, without being seen,
                        whether someone was in the C-Room, as we called it.
                           Someone was there, all right, and the sight just about
                     blew my mind!  Kristin lay on her back on one of the work
                    counters, totally nude, her clothing in a pile on the floor.
                  That would have been astounding enough, but what made the scene
                 really incredible was that the "fingers" on one of the mechanical
                 arms were fondling one of her breasts while those on a second arm
                 were busy admidst the pale hair between her legs!  Incredulous at
                              what I was seeing, I sat down to watch.
                           The computer beside me was on and the screen indicated
                 that it was in the "engaged" mode, which meant it was controlling
                 the mechanical devices in the C-Room.  Kristin had obviously done
                 a little extra-curricular programming, and from what I could tell
                     she seemed to have done a very good job!  I couldn't hear
                  anything from the next room, but Kristin's head and body were in
                    constant motion as the mechanical digits caressed first one
                 breast and then the other, pulled gently at her engorged nipples,
                 and glided easily in and out of the dark slit that was only half-
                                  hidden by her silky pubic hair.
                         I stood up quietly and slipped a blank tape into the VCR.
                  I didn't know what I might do with the tape, but the way my own
                   juices were starting to flow, I suspected that I was going to
                   want to watch this scene again - in living color, no less!  It
                      was while I was loading the tape that I noticed a third
                    mechanical arm.  It was motionless now, but Kristin plainly
                   didn't expect it to remain so, because its padded fingers were
                       clamped around the base of the largest  I'd ever seen!
                            For some reason the sight of that  really pissed me
                   off.  I can't explain exactly why it bothered me so much, but
                   here was a woman with the most perfect body I'd ever seen, or
                   even imagined, who could have any man she even looked at.  But
                   instead of taking any of the offers she'd had, she constructed
                  her perfect mechanical lover, and now she was waiting for it to
                 fuck her!  If she were really ugly, maybe I could accept what she
                  was doing.  For Kristin to do it, though, seemed like a gesture
                    of contempt for the rest of us, who had to settle for mortal
                    lovers and their fragile egos, their clumsy foreplay, their
                 sweaty bodies and their ordinary-sized cocks that so often had to
                                   be coaxed laboriously to life.
                           I decided to retaliate.  Without any definite plan in
                  mind, I switched on the video monitor in the control room, so I
                 could see and hear what was being recorded on the video tape, and
                  disengaged the computer.  Kristin looked surprised as the magic
                  fingers stopped their kneading and probing, and then astonished
                  as the hand that had been toying with her pussy moved up to her
                          Astonishment gave way to alarm as I used the arm to roll
                  her onto her stomach.  She began to struggle, making incoherent
                  sounds, but I pushed two of the mechanical hands into the small
                  of her back to hold her in place on the flat counter.  I hadn't
                     decided what to do next, but the sight of her perfect ass,
                  wiggling as she tried vainly to get her knees under her, gave me
                                              an idea.
                           I spread the arms slightly and opened their fingers to
                   grip Kristin firmly on either side of her narrow waist.  With
                 their immense strength the mechanical arms had no trouble lifting
                   her off the counter.  I swung her into the middle of the room,
                   where she hung suspended by her middle about five feet off the
                  floor, head down, boobs jutting, legs kicking and arms flailing

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  "Stop it", she yelled, "whoever you are!  Put me
                                            down, now!"
                          I offered no response as my eyes searched the C-Room for
                     a suitable object.  I found a perfect one on another work
                 counter - a 50-centimeter scale.  It was like a ruler except that
                  it was made out of thick, clear plastic, twenty inches long, two
                         inches wide and about a quarter of an inch thick.
                              I activated the third arm - the one holding the
                      - and Kristin, looking upside down between her legs, must
                    have seen it move, because she started screaming and kicking
                 wildly.  "No!  Don't you dare touch me with that!", she shrieked.
                   She relaxed a little when she realized the arm was moving past
                      her.  I fully intended to make use of the , but not just
                             Opening the mechanical fingers, I dropped the  on
                   the counter and picked up the plastic scale.  It took a little
                 maneuvering to get the hand to hold the scale properly, clutching
                  it near the end and locking the fingers so that a minor flick of
                  the mechanical "wrist" imparted considerable speed and momentum
                   to the heavy scale.  Then I moved the arm into position behind
                      and slightly to the side of Kristin's creamy white ass.
                           All I knew about spanking I'd learned as a child, bent
                    over the edge of the kitchen table while my mother applied a
                  yardstick to the seat of my jeans or, on a few occasions, to my
                     bared bottom.  That had taught me that spankings were both
                  painful and humiliating, and those were precisely the sensations
                               I wanted the ice queen to experience.
                           I gave the mechanical wrist an experimental flick, and
                  was rewarded with a sharp yelp of pain through the control room
                    speaker.  The plastic scale had landed on the left cheek of
                  Kristin's ass, but it hadn't bounced away as I thought it would
                   have if I'd been holding the scale in my own hand.  I tried a
                   lighter touch, but it was evidently too light, because Kristin
                                        didn't make a sound.
                          In a matter of minutes, though, I became quite adept, if
                     I say so myself.  Each swing of the makeshift  resulted in
                   a satisfying yell from Kristin and left another pink blotch on
                  the silky skin of her bottom.  I picked up the tempo as I became
                   more confident, and let the scale wander over the backs of her
                  thighs as well as her ass.  In almost no time the ice queen was
                   sobbing and begging for the paddling to stop.  She hadn't been
                    spanked as a child, I guessed, or she'd have more endurance.
                            I responded to her pleas with a blistering flurry of
                     smacks that really covered the target area and had Kristin
                 kicking and screaming.  Any effort she might have made earlier to
                    keep her legs closed was abandoned, and the video camera had
                  perfect view of her wet beaver - though it couldn't have been as
                                          wet as mine was!
                          Then I moved the arm over to the other work surface and
                 laid the scale carefully on the edge of the counter.  I picked up
                      the gross-looking  and began moving the arm back toward
                 Kristin.  She saw it coming and began shrieking in protest again.
                         I decided that I enjoyed being the spanker instead of the
                 spankee enough that I could let Kristin decide when she preferred
                           the  to the  .  I dropped the , picked up the
                   plastic scale, and resumed my attack on that perfectly shaped
                            By that time I was becoming a real virtuoso, and the
                   feeling between my legs was leading me to think that I should
                  take up bare-bottom spanking as a serious hobby, if not a full-
                   time profession.  Kristin yelled and begged as I peppered her
                    immobilized butt and flailing thighs with dozens of stinging
                           Once her ass and the backs of her thighs had turned a
                    nearly uniform shade of crimson, I stopped the spanking and
                    exchanged the scale for the  again.  Again Kristin protested
                  when she the saw the mechanical fingers grasp the plastic cock,
                   but when I put it down and moved toward the scale, she quickly
                    said "No, no more of that, don't hit me any more!"  She said
                             nothing as I moved the  slowly toward her.
                            The camera had a clear view of Kristin's pussy but I
                     didn't, so I halted the arm carrying the  a couple of feet
                   away from her, and used the other robot arms to turn her until
                  she was facing almost directly away from me.  Then I had to move
                   the camera so that it had essentially the same view I did, and
                               zoomed it to provide a close-up shot.
                          I wondered suddenly, as I swung the third arm around and
                       thrust the flesh-colored  toward Kristin's glistening
                  cuntlips, if this was how a man felt as he prepared to shove his
                  dick into a woman's waiting pussy.  Too bad, I thought, that the
                  mechanical appendages had no nerves; it would have been a blast
                          to feel what a man feels at the moment of entry.
                            Kristin groaned as I touched the tip of the  against
                  the outer lips of her pussy.  I increased the pressure, watching
                  in fascination as her clitoris flattened and her lips spread to
                 surround the enormous phallus.  I pushed harder, and Kristin gave
                    a sharp cry as two inches of the ribbed  sank out of sight.
                 By that time, I was sure, the latex-covered plastic was well into
                   her vagina, and I must have the angle about right or she'd be
                   screaming her head off.  My own pussy convulsed with envy as I
                    gave the control a shove and buried another seven inches of
                 artificial cock in the ice queen.  The moan that came through the
                                speaker didn't sound much like pain.
                             I pulled the  back several inches and pushed it in
                 again.  The movement required almost no effort, and I marveled at
                   how quickly Kristin had adapted to an object of that size.  I
                      started stroking in and out, wishing again that the  had
                   nerves and could somehow transmit to me the sensations it was
                    feeling.  I wondered if any man had ever been inside the ice
                                  queen to feel those sensations.
                          That thought resurrected some of my earlier anger, and I
                  decided that I'd be damned if I was going to stand there fucking
                 some woman who thought she was too good to get screwed by a flesh
                       and blood man - especially when I had a nice  at home
                   that I'd been neglecting lately.  I stopped thrusting with the
                     , which provoked little whimpers from my colleague in the
                 next room, and quickly programmed the computer to continue with a
                 four-inch back-and-forth stroke, along the same axis, for another
                  fifteen minutes, then to withdraw the third arm, lower the other
                               two near the floor, and separate them.
                         Fifteen minutes would be plenty of time for the ice queen
                  to get her rocks off a time or ten, and then to start imagining
                    the scene the next morning when the weekend crew came in and
                     found her suspended naked and being humped continuously by
                 computer-controlled device that only she knew how to program.  It
                  would also give me plenty of time to get out of the building and
                  several miles away before a much-relieved biologist could start
                             trying to identify her unknown tormentor.
                           I let the VCR record the first gasps of ecstasy, then
                   popped the tape out and slipped it into my purse.  I left the
                  recorder on, so Kristin would know she'd been on candid camera,
                   and hurried out to my car.  I could check on my mice the next
                             Kristin cleaned up well; there was no sign of her
                   nighttime adventure when I went by the lab about noon the next
                  day, although I did notice that the plastic scale was nowhere to
                   be found.  My mice had been fed and watered, and were doing as
                   well as could be expected, considering the stuff I'd injected
                                             into them.
                            The first item on the agenda at our staff meeting on
                 Monday morning was an announcement that Kristin had resigned.  No
                 one knew just why, but the director wished her well, in absentia,
                    in whatever her new endeavors might be.  And I've decided to
                  learn everything there is to know about programming the computer
                       that controls the mechanical arms in the C-Room.  The 
                 was comforting, but I've thought of some experiments I might like
                             to conduct here, late some Saturday night.


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