Tucked in a dingy mall office between greasy burgers and sweat-soaked gym rats, our stats lab buzzed with bullshit studies. I was Professor Donatien, jaded scientist, until Chloé stormed in. Blonde, glasses, white coat hugging her tight curves like a second skin. That study claiming guys think sex 18 times a day, girls 10? Total crap. We both knew it. Her ass bent over my desk, skirt riding up, my cock twitched first thought of the morning. Heart pounding. Forbidden heat rising. ‘Let’s build something real,’ she purred, eyes locking mine. Slipomètre 3000: sensors in underwear tracking every pulse, every wet rush, every hard throb. No lies. Her red thong prototype dangled from her fingers. I swallowed hard, dick straining. ‘Test it ourselves?’ she teased, leg brushing mine. Electricity shot through me. Pulse racing, palms sweaty. The line blurred. Science or sin? Fuck it. I nodded. Excitement coiled tight in my gut, balls heavy with need. She leaned close, vanilla-musk scent hitting me like a drug. Nipples poked her blouse. My obsession ignited: her body, our secret test, thoughts we’d never admit.
Nights coding, coffee-fueled, tension thick. Her breath on my neck during tweaks. ‘How often you think of fucking me?’ she whispered once, hand grazing my thigh. I froze, cock rock-hard. We equipped 2000 suckers. Results exploded: 412 dirty thoughts daily, men and women equal sluts. But ours? Unopened file taunted. Lab empty late. She stripped first, sliding into that crimson thong. Sensors hummed alive. ‘Your turn.’ Boxer on, tight against my swelling shaft. We worked, but glances burned. Data pinged. My first spike: watching her tits strain as she bent. Hers too, thighs clenching. ‘Feel that?’ she gasped, hand on my bulge. No words. I yanked her close, mouth crashing. Tongues wild, hungry. Blouse ripped open, perfect tits spilling free. Sucked hard, nipples pebbling under teeth. Her hand dove in my pants, stroking my throbbing cock. ‘So fucking hard already.’ Pushed her against desk, skirt hiked, thong yanked aside. Wet pussy lips glistening, sensors beeping frenzy. Fingers plunged deep, her juices soaking me. ‘Fuck me, Donatien. Now.’ Cock slammed in, raw, no rubber. Tight heat gripped, walls pulsing. She bucked, nails raking back. Desk shook, papers flying. Grunts, slaps of flesh. ‘Harder, you obsessed perv.’ I pounded, balls slapping her ass, her screams echoing. Came roaring, flooding her pulsing cunt. She shuddered, squirting mess everywhere. Sensors maxed out. Pure animal release.
The Awakening
Back to reality, lab pristine, world none the wiser. File sealed forever. Published the bombshell: everyone hornier than food. Media frenzy, but our scores? Buried. Nights now, naked in her bed, bodies slick, thoughts syncing like the device promised. Her curves under me, pussy milking another load. Thrill of the hidden: colleagues chat stats, we smirk, cum still dripping. Obsession safe, pulsing secret. Dared the inavouable. Worth every forbidden beat.