MB Saucy Side: Scientific Method (Featuring Talia) (Patreon)

“I want to explore you,” Glitch suddenly announces over dinner.

You chuckle. “What am I, an undiscovered island? We’ve been dating for two years.”

“Yet I’ve still so much to learn,” Glitch insists. “So, can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Experiment.” Her brown eyes go soft with yearning, a look that she knows you’re incapable of refusing. Damn puppy eyes are an unfair advantage, but Glitch has never played fair.

“Fine,” you agree, “so long as you don’t take out the notepad again.”

“But then how can I remember what best makes you—”

“No notepad,” you repeat firmly. “I still haven’t lived down Sally finding your last one.”

Glitch nods with understanding. “Mental notes only,” she says. “I promise.”

* * * *

Glitch’s hands are quick and dexterous from hours working Aeon’s R&D Lab. Her touch dismantles your self-control like so many gadgets and gizmos she’s worked on, bit by agonizingly pleasurable bit. Her tongue licks a hot path across your chest, then she blows upon the wet skin until you shiver from the chill; she pinches your almost hard enough to bruise then soothes the soreness with a tender kiss.

Her every action is calculated to be unpredictable and to provide you with as much ecstasy as possible. Your skin throbs beneath Glitch’s ruthlessness handling and prickles in the wake of her gentle caress; a hoarse, keening cry tumbles from your lips between whimpers and gasps and your whispered, broken pleas for ‘more’.

Glitch obliges. Coherent thought falls apart beneath her clever hands, reducing you to a scrapheap of sweaty limbs and hollow longing.

Her laugh comes out dark and throaty instead of light and teasing. Gone is the puckish prankster with whom you first felt enamored, replaced by a devious tactician and cunning inventor. You’re no longer Glitch’s lover, accustomed to impassioned embraces and heartfelt declarations; tonight, she handles you as if you were an experiment which she’s intent on perfecting. With every investigative caress and deliberate stroke, she learns what you desire, what you dislike, and what makes your body arch off the bed as if struck by sudden lightning.

“You like that?” Glitch asks. “How much?” She then refuses to proceed until you moan out a few words of constructive feedback.

Talia ruins you, in the best possible way.

Like any professional tinkerer, she reassembles what’s been broken. Her mouth, usually preoccupied with quips and quotes, becomes a quiet tool that she uses to end the ache. Talia forgoes experimenting the juxtaposition of pain and pleasure, and abandons analyzing the volume of your gasps—instead focusing on your completion. Her lips curve in a smug, satisfied smirk as your involuntary begging transforms into panting praise.

* * * *

As you slowly regain your ability to breathe and think, Glitch lies back on the pillows beside you. She wraps her arms around your waist in a tight hug.

“I’m going to spend the next hour reprocessing that in my head,” she says in a serious tone, although her expression is teasing. “Gotta commit my findings to memory since you won’t let me record like a good scientist.”

You contemplate swatting at her, but your body is too contentedly lethargic to move. “We can always duplicate the experiment,” you say with a yawn. “Should you forget any of the data.”

Glitch gently kisses you. “My memory is terrible,” she lies. “I’ll need frequent reminders.”