Chapter 6: Sensory Deprivation Session
The clinic was quieter than usual. No muffled voices from the waiting room, no hum of distant machinery—just the soft whir of the air vents and the occasional click of a door down the hall.
Room 4 smelled different today. Something beneath the antiseptic—clean linen, maybe, or the faintest trace of Stu’s cologne. It clung to the leather exam table, the freshly pressed sheets, the black silk blindfold resting at the foot of the bed.
Stu was already there, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms taut as he adjusted something on the counter. He didn’t turn when I walked in. Just nodded toward the table.
“Strip.”
I hesitated. “That’s not how you usually start.”
“Different protocol today.” He finally looked at me, eyes dark in the low light. “Unless you’d prefer the standard assessment?”
The way he said *standard* made my skin prickle. Like it was a joke only he got.
I shucked my jeans.
Stu’s mouth curved as he picked up the blindfold. “Lie back.”
The silk was cool against my skin, smooth as water as he tied it snug behind my head. The world vanished—no clinic, no Stu, just blackness and the sound of my own breathing.
Then his hands were on me.
Fingers traced my collarbone, my ribs, my stomach—everywhere but where I wanted them. I jerked when something cold and slick touched my inner thigh.
“Relax.” Stu’s voice was low, close. “Just the gel.”
A second later, the vibration hit.
Not his hand. Something smaller, harder, buzzing against my skin in slow, deliberate circles. My hips bucked.
“Responsive,” Stu murmured. The words ghosted over my ear. “Good.”
The vibrator moved higher, teasing the crease of my thigh before sliding up my length. I bit back a groan.
“You can make noise.” His thumb pressed into my hip. “I need accurate data.”
The laugh that punched out of me was raw. “Bullshit.”
Stu’s chuckle was warm against my neck. “Language.”
Then his mouth was there—just a brush of lips, fleeting—before the vibrator returned, circling the head in torturous little flicks. My breath came sharp.
“Close?”
“Fuck—*yes*.”
The vibration stopped.
I swore, arching off the table. Stu’s hand pinned me down, firm.
“Not yet.”
Before I could protest, something colder nudged between my legs. Lube, thick and slick. A finger pressed in slow.
I tensed.
“Breathe.” His other hand wrapped around me, stroking in time with the push of his finger. “There.”
The stretch burned—just for a second—before his thumb found a spot inside that made my vision white out.
“Oh—”
Stu hummed. “There it is.”
His finger curled, deliberate, as his hand tightened around me. The vibrator returned, buzzing against my balls, and suddenly I was strung tight, teetering on the edge.
“Please.” My voice cracked.
“Tell me.” His breath was hot on my neck. “What do you want?”
The words lodged in my throat. I couldn’t—
His finger pressed deeper.
“*Stu*—”
“Say it.”
The vibrator kicked up a notch. I shattered.
Pleasure ripped through me, wave after wave, until I was shaking, gasping, clawing at the table. Stu didn’t stop—just worked me through it, finger still moving inside me, until I was limp and wrung out.
When the blindfold finally came off, the light stung. Stu was watching me, lips parted, his hair mussed where he’d dragged a hand through it.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then he cleared his throat, reaching for a towel. “Best sample yet.”
I laughed, weak. “That all you care about?”
Stu’s gaze flicked to mine. Held.
Something unreadable passed behind his eyes before he turned away, tossing the vial into the pass-through.
“Friday,” he said. “Noon.”
The door clicked shut.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my pulse still rabbiting in my throat.
*Friday.*
Three days.
I already knew I’d be counting the hours.