Visit the lab

Christina isn't sure when you propose making your journey, but you bring her around. "It's either that or listen to me whine for the rest of the afternoon," you say. She changes her tune quickly enough.

You abandon your things on the beach, stopping back at the cabin briefly for some insect repellent and a pair of sarongs. Otherwise you're wearing only your bikinis. Yours is a very skimpy number that made your father go red when he saw it in the morning: the barest slivers of blue triangles cover your respectable 36C breasts, and a matching triangle hides your tight pussy and the strip of pubic hair above it that you've been meaning to wax again. The back of the bikini shorts disappear between the curves of your bubble butt, although your sarong covers that now, even if it does little to improve your overall immodesty.

Christina's bikini is decent only in comparison to yours, with slightly fuller coverage of her 36B chest. The black, glittery fabric contrasts markedly against her milky skin and her California-blonde hair. Unlike you, Christina hasn't tanned much yet, and her blonde locks are natural. Not that you're jealous. Not one bit.

The path to the lab is long but straightforward: mostly a slight slope, winding its way past a few obstacles and thicker bits of forest. After about ten minutes you spot the lab. An unassuming, one-floor pre-fab covers the area of a few football fields. There are no fences or guards around, but you spot CCTV cameras mounted along the walls of the building.

"What should we do now?" Christina asks. It's a good question.

The main entrance is directly ahead, but from the big red light above the code panel, you can tell it's locked. There are bound to be service doors somewhere else along the perimeter.