The camera is turned on and the scene is the Kitchen again. The table is gone and the space is clean. The researcher is standing in the middle of the empty floor dressed in formal pants and a dress shirt. The tie around his neck is lose and of a solid navy color.

Using both hands he tights it before he looks in the direction of the door.

"After the table broke, yesterday," he grimaces, "Causing me to be injured. I was forced to rest as recover. And she was tired, so we thought we'd start afresh today."

"Today we're going back to the original format," he looks away, "I've abandoned my visual diary. I need to start acting like the Researcher that I am. She, Subject3, has agreed and requested that we start today with the role playing portion of the research."

"She is right," he shrugs one shoulder, "We have adequately explored each other's body and this is the next logical step. This segment of the research will have us putting ourselves in different scenarios and to see how being sexually experienced has changed her confidence and her ability to adapt. The aim is to see how her awaken sexuality might change her interactions in the 'real world'. Of course, this isn't the real world and I'm no longer a stranger. It is just a simulation for her to judge herself against her previous experiences."

"She wanted to do the bar scene first," the lines around his eyes deepen as he frowns and looks around the room, "She's getting into her costume, and this is the outfit I'm wearing to give the impression that we are role playing strangers meeting in a bar."

"To be quite honest," he grimaces again, "I'm not looking forward to this. I am not comfortable in this type of environment, and although it's fake and we are still safe within the walls of my home, I still feel vulnerable just pretending the whole faux bar."

He walks over and turns on some music. The beat is hard, fast and loud with no distinguishable vocals. He puts some glasses on the bench top and does something to dim the lighting then he stands against the kitchen counter and looks around as if searching for something that's missing. Eventually he takes a deep breath, leans his weight against the counter and looks downward seemingly to examine the leather shoes he's wearing.

The scene doesn't change. He shuffles his stance but stays against the kitchen bench. The only indicator that time is passing is the clock in the right hand side of the recording screen. It shows the minutes ticking away.

Almost half an hour passes before the man blinks and is suddenly standing up straight staring at something beyond the camera.

A flash of bright red fabric comes into view in the left side of the frame. As it moves past and further into view the outline begins to take shape as the rear view of a woman wearing a red dress. The fabric is a heavy and stretchy texture, the color is fire-engine red and it's design is that of a long singlet fitting so tightly that it looks to be painted on all the way down to the just below her bottom at the top of her thighs where it ends abruptly. It is short, tight, and incredibly sexy.

The woman's hair is brushed to be long and shiny down her back. As she turns her face is revealed to show smooth glowing skin, bright red glossy lips, and smoky charcoaled eyes. The makeup is applied flawlessly making the woman look like a siren. Her lips curl into a half smile as her large eyes look the man up and down.

The man gaps at her. He doesn't seem to be able to hide his shock as his mouth hangs open and his eyes are wide and unblinking. He shakes his head as if he's denying what he's seeing.

"Subject3?" he stutters the question, "What are you wearing?"

The woman who stands confidently before him looking nothing like the girl who sat on his bed in recording1, laughs softly at his confusion. She steps closer to him, her shiny black stiletto's adding at least 6 inches to her height and allowing her to look him in the eye.

"What's wrong, Master?" she smirks as she lifts an eyebrow, "Don't you like what you see?"

"Yes, no, that's not the point," he drops his eyes to where the dress clings to her breasts which seem larger and fuller than before, "This wasn't the outfit that I provided."

"Oh, that," she laughs with a half shrug, "That thing was ugly."

"Where did you," he starts but doesn't finish his question, "How did you?"

"I brought this with me," she doesn't avoid his gaze, "A girl shouldn't be without a decent dress."

"Decent?" he seems confused by that word as his eyes made another inspection of the dress.

"Well, maybe not decent," she laughs again, "Do I look sexy?"

"Sexy?" he says the word like it's unfamiliar to him.

"If this is a bar," she extends her hand to indicate the kitchen area, "And I'm out with the intention of picking up a hot man, then I should look sexy. Wasn't that the objective of this?"

"Yes," he gulps, "But, I wasn't expecting, this."

"You weren't expecting me to be sexy?" she pouted but her eyes twinkled with a teasing light.

"You've always been sexy," his voice doesn't sound natural, it was higher and more stained than normal, "I've never found you anything but sexy."

"Really?" her brow creases and for the first time her eyes drop to the floor, "You don't like what I'm wearing."

"Oh," he groans, "I like it. No man alive wouldn't like what you're wearing."

"Then, what's the problem," she lifts and tilts her head again.

"I didn't expect you to look like this," his voice is soft and pained, "You're beautiful. I've always known that you're sexy and desirable but right now you look stunning, more that anything I could have imagined."

"And," she prompts.

"And," he breathes and looks away, "You're out of my league. In no scenario would a woman like you want a man like me."

"What?" with shock she snaps her head up, "But?"

"Look at you?" he waves his hand at the dress, "I'm nothing compared to all that. You could have any man you wanted. If you walked into a bar wearing that, you wouldn't even see me for all the men crowding around you."

"No," she shakes her head, "That's not right."

"Trust me," he nods, "You are gorgeous, and I wouldn't stand a chance of getting your attention."

"But," she tries again, "Is this role playing? Are you saying that just because I look good you don't want me?"

"No, I want you," he corrects, "But the role playing we were attempting was based on the real world. In no possible scenario would a woman who looked like you look twice at a man like me."

"I'm confused," she admits, "You want me, but you don't want me looking this good?"

"Shit," he runs his hand through his hair, "This is the opposite of what I was trying to do. I wanted to be professional, but this has thrown me. I was supposed to put my personal preference aside but now that I'm forced to do that, I'm struggling."

"You're not making sense," she frowns.

"I like you naked," he breathes the words out, "I love how you look in the morning with your hair all messy and sleep in your eyes. I get hard just imagining you in my old t-shirt or that little robe of yours. I am attracted to you."

"But not like this?"

"Maybe my ego can't take the fact you're so damn sexy," he grimaces, "Or maybe it's because you don't look like the woman I know so intimately."

"You're not doing much for my ego at the moment," she smooths her hands down her dress.

"Oh hell," he shakes his head, "I'm sorry. I've done this all wrong. There's nothing wrong with how you look, I should be worshipping you not pointing out my insecurities."

"Does this makes you insecure? How?"

"I can't imagine us together when you look so good," he says simply but looks away, "I didn't realize that I was doing that until now but seeing you looking like this, I can't see us together once this is all over."

"I thought that was what you wanted," she picks up the end of his tie and starts to play with it, "I thought this was just about fucking."

"It was," he groans, "That's where I messed up. I can't pretend anymore."

"You like me," she edges closer to him, pulling at his tie, "You think I'm sexy and you want a future with me?"

"Yes," he admits his voice rough.

"And right now we are in a bar," she looks around, "Surrounded by other people, other men, and I want you. I'm looking at you. I'm asking you to talk to me. I'm flirting with you."

He groans.

"What are you going to do?" she smiles, "Ignore me? Dismiss me as someone out of your league? Or are you going to try to get into my pants?"

"I'm going to," his breathing is fast as he looks at her, "Ask you to dance."

He doesn't give her a chance to reply, he takes her hand and leads her into the middle of the kitchen space. He moves his feet in a simple shuffle as he dances in time with the beat. She does a similar movement with her feet, but she sway's her upper body and arms with more exaggerated movement. She closes her eyes as she dances seductively. He watches her, his eyes all over her body, appreciating the movement.

When the music changes, he grabs her hand again and with a little pull he catches her in both arms and starts swaying in time with the beat. He holds her against him, one hand resting between her shoulder blades the other on her waist. She holds him with both arms around his waist. They move in time with each other.

She kisses him on the neck as she starts to rotate her hips suggestively against him. His grip tightens as he tightens his hold on her and shifts his hips back and forth to correspond with her movements. He lows his lips to kiss her shoulder as his hand lowers to grip her butt cheek.

She takes a breath and catches her lips with his kiss. His lips move slowly and seductively smearing her glossy lipstick. Her eyes are closed as she kisses him back groaning as she encourages his tongue into her mouth. As the kiss becomes more consuming the dancing is less in time with the music and more desperate as hands pull at clothing.

She throws her head back to breathe, he kisses down her neck as she relaxes in his arms arching her back so that her groin is pushed hard against the rod in his pants. Her dress has ridden up so that his fingers have found the smooth satin of her panties. He growls against the skin on her neck as he flicks the elastic edging of the underwear.

"We are in public," she giggles as she smooths her outfit down without interrupting the dance.

"Tease," he sniggers as he twists her and repositions her so that he's standing behind her, hands on her hips, "Tweak for me?"

She smiles at his request, as she complies. Bent at the waist she rubs her but provocatively against his groin. He seems frozen as he grips her waist, his eyes compelled by her enjoyment of the action. She looks back at him as she laughs. Her bottom gyrating against the tented out zipper of his trousers.

She frees herself from his grip and dances away from him. Bouncing like a adolescent, she laughs as he stands still on the 'dance floor' without a shield to hide his large erection. She seems jubilant at his predicament. He merely stands there watching her reaction.

"I need a drink," he juts his head towards the kitchen sink, "Can I buy you a drink?"

"As long as it's not spiked with a roofie," she giggles.

He leads her to the benchtop.

"The bar is crowded," his voice is flat, "I'll pay but you're more likely to get through all the people and catch the bartenders attention. I'll be right behind you."

He holds her in front of him as the slowly sidestep the empty space until she is standing facing the sink top.

"You're going to have to lean in," there is no emotion in his voice, "And try to wave down the guy who's making the drinks. He's down the other end of the bar serving a group of drunk girls."

"Sure, why not," she shrugs and does as he suggests, "Hey, bartender."

In order to lean out she has to jut her bottom out. He stays behind her but his hand slips downwards and beneath the dress. His fingers rub against the satin layer of the panties he discovered earlier.

"Shh," he whispers when she turns to see what he's doing, "We're in public remember."

He fakes an innocent look as his left hand holds her hips firm and the fingers of his right hand slip the material aside and start slip up and down in time with the music. Her arms brace against the bench, one hand gripping the tap of the sink. He doesn't react. He merely watches her as he works his hand.

"Do you 'come' here often?" he asks with emphasis on the word 'come'.

"It's really 'hard' to get a drink," he doesn't seem to expect any reply as he speaks to loudly as if trying to make himself heard over the noise of the bar.

"What do we have to do in order to get a fucking drink around here?" he smiles as she gasped, her cheeks almost as red as the dress.

"Are you alright, babe?" he smirks, "You look a little faint?"

His hand untangles itself from her panties and joins the other around her waist as he shifts and steps in while pulling her hips to the position that suits him.

"You're going to have to work harder," he says in matter-of-fact tone, "If you're going to get that stiff drink."

She twists to look at him while he stands there unmoving but with his erection ensconced within her.

"Show some enthusiasm, babe," he lifts an eyebrow, "I want a 'slow-comfortable-fuck', and you should order a 'red-hot-slut' or maybe a 'dirty-screaming-whore'."

"What?" she looks hurt.

"Order whatever you like," he lifts his eyebrow, "I just thought a creamy one would suit you. But unless you do something, we are never going to quench that thirst."

She starts to twerk like she had on the dance floor.

"Woah, I ordered a 'slow-comfortable-fuck' not a 'Screaming-orgasm'," he tightens his grip on her preventing her from bouncing against him before he leans in and whispers, "Let's just be discreet because they will probably throw us out if they notice this public display of affection."

She moves her hips with small movements as she leans backwards pushing her weight against his waiting erection. He stands perfectly still and expressionless as she works with the smallest motions she can manage. Her breath is labored as she fights the desire to move faster and more obviously.

"I'm so fucking thirsty," he hisses with his teeth clenched, "Am I going to fucking die before I wet my whistle?"

She closes her eyes as he finally shifts his hips in the smallest movements. She bites her lip to prevent from crying out as the tiny movements seem to be enough to have her unravel.

"You really look hot," he steps inwards, while maintaining their connection, so that she's upright and he's directly behind her, his feet between hers, "Let me help you, can't have you fainting on me."

With both arms wrapped around her waist he starts nudging himself in and out of her with similar almost indetectable movements.

"So,what's a sexy little thing like you doing hanging out here?" he asks, his voice rough, "Are you looking for a hook up?"

He maintains his short sharp movements as he speaks to her, his voice is flat but the innuendo is not lost.

"I bet that I could make you a 'porn-star'." he smirks, "You know? It's a drink."

He dips one hand down to between her and the countertop and wriggles it beneath the red underwear to find her clitoris.

"I'm pretty good at making 'wet-pussy's'," his voice sounds strained, "Maybe later I'll teach you how to make a 'cock-sucking-whore'."

He groans softly and kisses the skin on her shoulder as she bites down on her lip while using the edge of the bench to hold onto as she convulses.

"Oh, look," the Researcher calls out loudly while releasing her clitoris so that he can point at nothing in particular, "He's coming, the bartender, he's coming."

With that proclamation he starts to thrust hard as he waves his hand out as if signaling to the non-existent man.

"Oh fuck he's coming," he growls, his thrusts far from discreet, "I need that 'Cum-soaked-sluthole'. I want a 'ejaculation-wrapped-in-red'."

She moans loudly as his hand slips in her dress.

"That's it, show him your tits," he growls, "He'll come if he sees these puppies. He needs to come now. He needs to service you."

His hand cups her breast pinching her nipple as he thrust himself into her, lifting her and pinning her against the benchtop. He stops still, leaning over her and still reaching outward. His eyes close. His jaw tightens and then he steps back and discreetly repositions himself.

"Do you need help with those drinks, babe," he smiles innocently like nothing has happened.

"What the hell?" she turns to him, "What the fuck just happened?"

"Admit it," he laughs at her flustered face, "You're as horny as hell. You love me trash talking. You look like sex walking, and I want to make you feel like you can be a slut with me."

"I'm not," she blushes.

"Don't misunderstand me," he shakes his head, "I'm not casting dispersions on your character. I'm giving you a chance to be as sexy as you look. I'm offering you an opportunity."

"To be a slut?" she adjusts her dress.

"You know that you want it. Come with me," he lifts up the camera and tripod and the picture blurs, "I'll prove it to you."