Result.
That was just how my brain worked. No matter what I did or what problem I faced, I filtered it through the scientific method.
Problem: Need to cum, can’t stop thinking about Hudson Bailey.
Proposed Solution: Find some way to stop thinking of him while also orgasming.
With that in mind, I set about step three—testing. But just how to go about that?
Given how tormented and sweaty and near-orgasm I’d gotten over the last hour, I probably needed a shower. So I started there.
Leaping out of bed, I dug through the various freebie bags I’d been given over the course of the convention.Butt plugs, nipple clamps, paddles, Womanizer…
“Ah, there you are,” I muttered.
From the bag I retrieved two new items from one of our biggest competitors: One was a knockoff of a Hitachi Magic Wand, which would have been forgettable on its own, but unlike the Hitachi, it could be used around water, and the other was a thick dildo called The Spreader, which featured a suction cup bottom, perfect for solo play.
My entire body awakened as I put my toy cleaners to work inthe bathroom sink. There was nothing like it, that anticipation of knowing an orgasm was just on the horizon, and I bit my bottom lip to try to keep my excited breath from echoing off the marble bathroom walls.
But then, as I dried off The Spreader, my hands stilled as a memory caught up with me.
Hudson, handing this to me at the welcome party, after he’d won it in a door draw. He’d winced awkwardly when he’d opened the package and offered it to me with almost painful sheepishness.
“You know, in case you need it for market research, or whatever.”
Instantly, that memory twisted into a fantasy. Hudson, feathering the thick dildo down my skin…Hudson, doing some market research on me.
I dropped the dildo to the edge of the vanity.
Fuck no. This was against the entire ethos of this experiment. Thinking about Hudson was the problem I needed to fix. I could not solve that problem by masturbating to the thought of my coworker. This was a bad idea. Time to abort. I needed to get in bed, take a melatonin, and forget about—
As I went to grab the melatonin from my makeup bag, my arm accidentally brushed my nipple.
“Fuck.”
My body almost contracted at the contact. I gripped the vanity counter to keep upright. Oh God. I was even more pent-up than I thought.
The experiment was back on.
I clenched my thighs a little tighter. All thoughts but making myself cum—now and very hard—flew out the window.
In the bathroom mirror, I was pretty unremarkable. Curvy body. Shoulder-length black bob. Brown eyes. But my nipples were pebbled, ready to be played with, my cheeks were flushed, and my pink lips were parted as I panted through them.
Another intrusive thought.
What if Hudson thought of me this way? Was that why he’d gotten hard during my talk today? Was he picturing me pliant and fuckable?
Swallowing hard, I stared my reflection down. “No matter what you do,” I muttered, “do not think of him while you masturbate.”
You’re a scientist, dammit. Don’t let him ruin this experiment of yours.
My hand moved down to my breasts so I could thumb my hard nipple.
The relief was instant, but so was the craving for more.
I threw the shower to its highest temperature and teased my flesh as I waited for steam to fill the room. The dildo adhered comfortably to the shower wall, and despite the wetness growing between my legs, I generously applied lube.
When I stepped beneath the hot spray of the shower, it tickled my frayed nerve endings.
