Chapter 2: The Experiment Continues: Tools of the Trade
The echo of her own choked cry still vibrated in Eloise’s throat. She lay sprawled on the rumpled sheets, spent, the cheap plastic vibrator buzzing uselessly against her thigh where it had fallen. Its insistent hum was a shrill counterpoint to the deep, resonant thrum still echoing in her core. Sweat cooled on her skin. The air hung thick, the usual jasmine scent now underscored by something muskier, saltier – the undeniable smell of her own release soaking through the thin grey cotton of her yoga pants and into the sheet beneath her. Evidence. Real. Raw.
Her gaze drifted from the vibrating toy to the open notebook beside her. The last frantic words swam before her eyes: Language… fragments. Becomes sensation transcribed. Pulse. Throb. Drag. Clench. Below it, the damp smudge from her palm, now dry at the edges. The phantom editor’s cold directive – jerk off instructions – still echoed, a harsh aftertaste beneath the physical blur.
But the block… the block was gone. Obliterated. In its place was a hum, a low-grade electrical current running under her skin. And a desperate, clawing need for more. More sensation. More words. More of that terrifying clarity.
She fumbled for the vibrator, her fingers trembling slightly. It felt alien now, slick from… condensation? Sweat? She didn’t care. Without bothering to pull down her soaked yoga pants, she pressed the humming plastic disc firmly against the center of the damp patch covering her mound. Even through the cotton, the vibration hit her sensitized flesh like a jolt. A sharp gasp tore from her, her back instinctively arching off the mattress. Her free hand scrabbled for the pen.
> Implement: External vibe. Direct pressure through soaked barrier. Instant. Not build. Assault. Nerve endings shriek. Back arches – involuntary. Spinal cord wired live. Breath stolen. Vision whites at edges.
She held the vibrator there, grinding it slightly against the cotton, against the swollen nub beneath. The sensation was too much, too sharp, bordering on painful, yet impossible to release. It wasn't pleasure; it was data. Pure, unfiltered feedback. She scribbled, her handwriting jagged, breaking the paper.
> Sustain pressure. Vibration frequency… high? Teeth chatter. Thighs locked rigid. Jaw clenched. Sound: choked whimper. Mine? Can’t tell. Focus: the pinpoint buzz. Atomic. Obliterating thought. Only vibration. And the words chasing it. Fail. Words fail. Sensation wins.
The white noise in her head crescendoed. The vibrations seemed to penetrate bone. She felt her muscles coil, tighter, tighter, a spring compressed beyond its limit. Her knuckles whitened on the vibrator. The notebook page blurred. A choked scream ripped from her throat, raw and ragged, as her body convulsed violently. The orgasm wasn't a wave; it was a seizure, a violent short-circuit tearing through her. Juices flooded hot against the plastic disc, soaking deeper into the cotton, a fresh wave of wetness spreading beneath her. Her hand spasmed, dropping the pen. She collapsed, shuddering, the vibrator buzzing against her leg again, oblivious.
The door clicked open.
"Hey, El, are you—" The voice cut off abruptly.
Eloise froze. Every muscle locked. Time stuttered. She hadn’t heard footsteps. Hadn’t heard the door handle turn. Nothing but the white noise and the buzz and her own ragged breathing.
Slowly, agonizingly, she turned her head.
Chloe stood in the doorway. Eloise’s roommate. Early twenties, perpetually wrapped in oversized band tees and an aura of unflappable chill. Right now, that chill was replaced by wide-eyed astonishment. Her gaze took in the scene: Eloise, sprawled, flushed, yoga pants dark with dampness between her thighs, the vibrator buzzing on the sheet, the open notebook with its frantic scribbles lying face-up beside her.
Chloe’s eyes flicked from the notebook to Eloise’s face, then down to the vibrator, then back to the notebook. A slow, disbelieving smile spread across her face. Not judgmental. Not even particularly awkward. Amused. Intrigued.
"Whoa," Chloe breathed, leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes landed on the notebook again, specifically the damp smudge and the last jagged entry. "Research got intense, huh?"
Heat flooded Eloise's face, burning her ears, her neck. Mortification warred with the dregs of chemical euphoria still fizzing in her veins. She snatched at the thin top sheet, yanking it haphazardly over her hips, covering the vibrator, the damp patch, everything. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Chloe! Jesus! Knock!"
"Door was open a crack," Chloe shrugged, entirely unrepentant. Her eyes remained fixed on the notebook. "Seriously though. That's some... vivid note-taking." She tilted her head, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "Descriptive. Very... hands-on."
Eloise wanted to disappear. To melt into the damp sheet. The phantom editor was suddenly screaming in her head: Vulnerability! Shame! Document the physiological response! Increased heart rate, vasodilation in face, inhibited speech! She swallowed, her throat tight. "It's... it's for the book. You know. The memoir."
"Uh-huh," Chloe drawled, stepping fully into the room now. She didn’t come closer to the bed, but her presence filled the space, shattering the fragile intimacy Eloise had clawed back. The jasmine scent felt absurd now, drowned out by sex and sweat and sheer embarrassment. Chloe nodded towards the vibrator, half-hidden under the sheet. "Looks like immersive research. Dedication." She paused, her gaze sharpening, landing fully on Eloise's flushed, disheveled form. "So... does it work? The method acting?"
Eloise just stared, unable to form words. The humming of the vibrator seemed deafening.
Chloe leaned a hip against Eloise's cluttered desk, crossing her arms. Her expression shifted, the amusement softening into something else. Curiosity, yes, but laced with a strange intensity. Her gaze drifted over Eloise again, lingering where the sheet dipped at her waist, then moving up to her face, her bare breasts still exposed above the sheet, nipples hard points in the cool air.
"Looks intense," Chloe said, her voice lower now. Almost thoughtful. She met Eloise's panicked eyes directly. "That choked scream? Sounded pretty fucking real." Her gaze flicked back to the notebook, then returned to Eloise. "So... how does it feel? Pinching your clit just right?" A slow, deliberate smile touched her lips. "Show me."
The word hung between them, sharp as broken glass. Eloise’s breath hitched, trapped somewhere high in her chest. The vibrator’s persistent buzz against her thigh felt suddenly obscene, a mechanical witness to her utter exposure. Chloe’s gaze, unwavering, held hers – no judgment, just a terrifying, open curiosity that stripped Eloise bare far more effectively than the tangled sheet.
"You… what?" Eloise managed, her voice thin, reedy. Mortification warred violently with the fading tremors still echoing through her pelvis. The phantom editor screamed document! – the prickling heat flooding her face, the frantic flutter beneath her ribs, the impossible dryness in her mouth despite the slickness between her legs.
Chloe pushed off the desk, taking a single, deliberate step closer. Her usual nonchalance was replaced by a focused intensity Eloise had never seen. "Your notebook," Chloe said, her voice low, almost conversational, yet charged. She gestured towards the open page lying beside Eloise’s hip. "It’s… detailed. Observed." Another step. The scent of jasmine was utterly lost beneath musk and sweat and Eloise’s own panic. "You wrote about pinching your clit just right. How it throbs." Chloe’s eyes flickered down, then back up, locking onto Eloise’s widened blue ones. "Show me how it feels. Describe it. Right now."
Eloise’s mind blanked. The carefully constructed barrier between observer and participant, writer and subject, shattered completely. Chloe wasn’t asking about the writing. She was asking about the sensation. Directly. Intimately. The vibrator’s hum was the only sound besides her own ragged breathing. Say something. Anything.
"It’s…" Eloise swallowed, her throat clicking. Her hand, still hidden under the sheet near the buzzing toy, twitched involuntarily. "Sharp. At first. Like… electricity." The words felt clumsy, inadequate. She forced herself to meet Chloe’s gaze, seeing only that unnerving curiosity. "Then… deeper. A pulse. Inside. Radiating."
"Where?" Chloe prompted softly. She was standing beside the bed now, looking down. Her shadow fell across Eloise’s bare breasts, the damp sheet covering her hips. "Show me where the pulse starts."
Eloise’s fingers trembled beneath the thin cotton. The phantom editor was silent now, replaced by pure, visceral instinct. Slowly, hesitantly, she moved her hand under the sheet. Her fingertips brushed the damp fabric of her yoga pants, tracing the swollen outline beneath. She found the hard, sensitive nub through the soaked cotton. Pressed. A jolt shot through her, making her gasp.
"There," she breathed, her voice barely audible. Her eyes squeezed shut for a second against the sudden intensity. "Right… there." She kept the pressure, circling slowly, the cheap vibrator forgotten beside her leg. The sensation flared, bright and demanding. "It… builds. Like heat spreading. Down my thighs. Up… inside." Her free hand clenched the sheet.
Chloe watched, utterly still. Her expression was unreadable, absorbing every micro-expression on Eloise’s face – the flinch, the parted lips, the faint tremor in her jaw. "And denying yourself?" Chloe asked, her voice dropping even lower. "Before? The trembling thighs? What does that feel like?"
Eloise’s circling fingers stilled, hovering. The ache returned instantly, fierce and hollow. "Like… holding your breath underwater." Her voice cracked. "Everything screams. Muscles clench. Empty. Needing…" She couldn’t finish. The need was a physical weight, a taut wire vibrating inside her core. She looked up at Chloe, her blue eyes wide with a desperate, unspoken question.
Chloe held her gaze for a long, suspended moment. The air crackled. Then, slowly, deliberately, Chloe reached out. Not towards Eloise’s face, or the notebook. Her hand descended towards the sheet covering Eloise’s lap, towards the place where Eloise’s own fingers still pressed against herself through damp cotton. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the sheet.
"Show me properly," Chloe murmured, her voice husky, devoid of its usual lightness. Her fingers hooked into the thin fabric. "Let me feel it." She began to pull the sheet down.
The thin sheet slithered down Eloise's hips, pooling around her thighs like discarded water. Cool air rushed over her flushed skin, raising goosebumps despite the heat radiating from her core. Chloe’s gaze, intense and unwavering, tracked its descent, landing squarely on the damp, dark patch staining the grey cotton stretched tight over Eloise’s mound. Eloise flinched, a tiny, involuntary contraction of muscles already strung tight. Her breath hitched, trapped.
Chloe’s fingertip hovered, a fraction of an inch above the soaked fabric. Not touching.Yet. "This," she murmured, her voice a low thrum that vibrated in the charged air. "This wet spot. From denying yourself? Or from giving in?" Her eyes, dark and sharp, flicked up to meet Eloise’s terrified blue ones. "Tell me."
Eloise’s throat felt filled with sand. The phantom editor screamed document, but the sheer, raw exposure overwhelmed every cognitive function. Words felt like broken glass. Both, she wanted to say. The ache, the desperate needing, then the flood when it broke. Only a tiny, strangled sound escaped.
"Denying," she managed finally, the word scraping out. Her gaze dropped to where Chloe’s finger still hovered, a silent demand. "The trembling… holding back… it builds. Until…" She couldn't finish. Couldn't say release. Not to Chloe, standing there, seeing everything.
Chloe’s finger descended. Not to the center, but to the very edge of the dampness on the cotton, tracing the line where wet met dry. The touch, feather-light through the fabric, sent a jolt straight up Eloise’s spine. Her hips jerked minutely. A gasp tore free. Chloe watched the reaction, her expression unreadable, absorbing the flinch, the parted lips.
"Like that?" Chloe asked, her tone almost clinical, yet thick with an undercurrent Eloise couldn't name. Curiosity? Something else? Her fingertip pressed slightly harder, dragging slowly along the soaked seam of the yoga pants, tracing the outline beneath. "More? Or less?"
"More," Eloise whispered, the admission ripped from her. Her own hand, trapped beneath the bunched sheet, clenched into a fist. The vibrator lay silent and forgotten beside her thigh. All sensation narrowed to that single point of contact: Chloe’s finger pressing, exploring the barrier of fabric, mapping the shape of her need. "Sharper. Please."
Chloe obliged. Her fingertip pressed firmly now, circling the hard, sensitive nub she could clearly feel through the wet cotton. Eloise cried out, her back arching off the mattress, eyes squeezing shut against the sudden, blinding intensity. It wasn't her own hesitant exploration; it was an external force, demanding, undeniable. Heat bloomed, fierce and immediate, radiating down her inner thighs, coiling deep in her belly.
"Where?" Chloe insisted, her voice low and insistent, cutting through the haze. "Where does it pulse now? Show me."
Eloise’s free hand flew out from under the sheet, trembling violently. Her fingers splayed over her lower abdomen, pressing hard just above her pelvic bone. "Here," she gasped, her voice ragged. "Deep. Like… like a drumbeat. Inside." Her other hand was still trapped, trembling beside the discarded vibrator.
"And here?" Chloe’s finger shifted lower, tracing the soaked cleft through the thin material, applying a different pressure, a slow, deliberate rub. Eloise moaned, a low, guttural sound she barely recognized as her own. Her hips lifted, seeking more friction against that maddening touch.
"Yes," she choked out. "God, yes. There. It… spreads. Like liquid fire." The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, stripped of the notebook’s careful observation. "Makes the emptiness… deeper. Needing… needing to be filled." Her admission hung in the air, thick as the scent of sex.
Chloe went utterly still. Her finger paused its movement. The sudden cessation was almost painful. Eloise’s eyes snapped open, searching Chloe’s face, desperate, terrified. What now? Chloe’s gaze was locked on where her finger rested against the damp cotton. Then, slowly, deliberately, she looked up at Eloise. Her dark eyes held something new – a flicker of heat, a raw curiosity that stripped away any pretense of detached observation.
"Show me," Chloe breathed, the command soft, yet absolute. Her free hand reached out, not towards Eloise’s body, but towards her trapped wrist beneath the sheet. Her fingers brushed Eloise’s knuckles. "Properly. Without this." She tapped the damp fabric covering Eloise’s sex. "Show me how you touch yourself when you’re not taking notes."
A fresh wave of heat, different from the arousal, flooded Eloise’s face. The vulnerability was absolute, terrifying. Eloise obeyed silently. Her trembling hand slid out from under the sheet. She hesitated for only a heartbeat, her gaze locked with Chloe’s, then her fingers hooked into the waistband of her soaked yoga pants.
The elastic waistband resisted, damp cotton clinging stubbornly to her heated skin. Eloise tugged, the fabric dragging slowly down her hips, revealing the smooth, shaved curve just above her pubic bone. Cool air washed over her, raising goosebumps despite the furnace inside her. Chloe’s gaze felt like a physical weight, tracking the descent, intense, unwavering.
Lower. The soaked grey fabric peeled away from her mound, sticky with her own wetness. It felt obscenely slow, like peeling off a second skin. The humid scent of her arousal bloomed thickly in the space between them. Eloise’s breath came in shallow, rapid bursts. She couldn’t look away from Chloe’s face.
"Keep going," Chloe murmured, her voice low, almost hypnotic. No trace of her usual flippancy. Just focused intensity.
Eloise’s trembling fingers pushed the pants further down, past the swell of her hips, bunching them mid-thigh. Her bare sex was fully exposed now to the air, to Chloe’s dark, consuming stare. The pink folds glistened, swollen and slick, utterly vulnerable. She felt completely naked, even with the sheet still pooled around her legs. Her hands fluttered uselessly at her sides, desperate to cover herself yet paralyzed.
A flicker of something unreadable crossed Chloe’s face – not disgust, not judgment, but a fierce, almost analytical focus. She stepped the final distance to the edge of the bed. Her shadow fell over Eloise’s exposed body. "Look at that," she breathed, her gaze fixed between Eloise’s thighs. "Soaked. Couldn't hold back, could you?"
Eloise squeezed her eyes shut for a second, humiliation warring with a terrifying spark of something else. "You told me to—"
"I know what I told you," Chloe cut in, her voice sharpening. "And I told you to show me properly." Her hand shot out, surprisingly quick, and grabbed the damp fabric still bunched on Eloise’s left thigh. Her knuckles brushed the sensitive skin there, making Eloise flinch.
Before Eloise could react, Chloe yanked.
The wet cotton peeled away from Eloise’s right thigh with a faint, damp schlick, the sound jarringly loud in the silent room. Chloe held the sopping garment aloft for a second, like some bizarre trophy, the dark stain stark against the grey. Her eyes never left Eloise’s bare sex, now completely uncovered, completely revealed. A faint sheen of moisture coated the shaved skin.
"Jesus," Chloe exhaled, a low whistle escaping her lips. "That’s… thorough."
She dropped the soaked yoga pants onto the rumpled sheets beside the discarded vibrator. Her gaze, predatory and intense, roamed over Eloise’s exposed body – the trembling thighs, the glistening pink folds, the hard peaks of her breasts still rising and falling rapidly above the sheet. The jasmine scent was obliterated by sex and salt and sweat. Chloe leaned in slightly, her own breathing audible now.
"Okay, Thorne," she said, her voice dropping to a husky murmur. "Let's see what all that fuss was about." Her fingers hovered, mere inches from Eloise’s slick heat. "Start talking."
Eloise stared, paralyzed. Chloe’s fingertips hovered, radiating heat just above her slick skin. The air thickened, saturated with the humid scent of her own arousal. "Talking?" Eloise echoed, her voice cracking like brittle parchment. Her mind scrabbled for coherence. "I... can't..."
"Bullshit," Chloe said softly, her gaze unwavering, locked onto the glistening folds below. A single fingertip dipped, feather-light, tracing the outer swell of Eloise’s labia. Not quite touching the core. Eloise gasped, hips jerking off the mattress. "You filled a whole fucking notebook. Talk." Chloe’s fingertip pressed more firmly, sliding slowly through the soaking wetness. "Start with this. The slide."
Eloise whimpered. The sensation was fire and ice. Shame warred with a shocking burst of pure physical need. Her own fingers felt clumsy, insignificant compared to Chloe’s focused intent. "Slick," she forced out, the word thick. "Hot. Like... silk under water." Chloe’s finger slid higher, tracing the edge of the inner fold, gathering more wetness. "It... catches." Another gasp. "Sticky-smooth."
"Good," Chloe murmured, a low rumble of approval that vibrated down Eloise’s spine. "Now, here." Her finger moved unerringly to the exposed, swollen nub of Eloise’s clit. She didn’t touch it directly. Circled it. A slow, deliberate orbit just millimeters away. Eloise cried out, her back snapping into an arch. Her thighs trembled violently. "Tell me."
"Please!" Eloise begged, the word escaping before thought. Her hands fisted the sheets. "It’s... too much! Like... lightning waiting to strike!" The near-touch was agonizing, exquisite. Nerve endings shrieked. Her entire being focused on that tiny point of almost-contact.
"Exactly," Chloe breathed. Her voice held a fierce, almost predatory satisfaction. She watched Eloise’s face contort, the flush deepening, the desperate clench of her jaw. "Denial. You wrote about it. Feels like drowning, you said." Her circling finger slowed. "Is it?"
"Yes!" Eloise sobbed. The ache was a physical void, a vacuum pulling at her core. Her muscles coiled tighter, screaming for release. "Like... lungs burning. Needing air. Needing... that." She bucked her hips, trying desperately to close the minuscule gap. Chloe pulled her finger back a fraction, denying contact. Eloise whimpered, a raw sound of pure frustration.
"Patience," Chloe chided, her voice unnervingly calm amidst the storm she was conducting. Her gaze raked over Eloise’s body – the heaving chest, the sweat-slicked skin, the utter vulnerability laid bare. "Now. Where it pulses deep inside. Show me. Like you did before."
Eloise’s trembling hand flew to her lower belly, pressing hard. "Here," she gasped, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above her pubic bone. "Deep ache. Throbbing. Like... a drumbeat trapped under skin." Her voice hitched. "It echoes. Down my legs. Up... everywhere."
"Show me how you touch," Chloe commanded, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. Her own finger still hovered, a tormenting promise just out of reach. "How you fill that emptiness. Show me."
The command shattered the last fragment of Eloise’s resistance. Need overruled fear, shame, everything. Her free hand, slick from the moisture coating her thigh, moved down. Hesitated for only a heartbeat above her glistening sex, then plunged. Two fingers slid deep inside herself with a slick, obscene sound, deeper than any vibrator, meeting the pulsing heart of that aching void.
A choked scream tore from Eloise’s throat. Her head thrashed back against the pillows. The relief was instantaneous, overwhelming. Her inner muscles clenched violently around her own fingers, a tight, wet heat.
"Fucking hell," Chloe breathed, her clinical detachment finally cracking. Her eyes were wide, dark pools fixed on Eloise’s hand buried knuckle-deep, on the slick movement. "That’s… raw."
Eloise couldn’t speak. Could only move. Her fingers curled, finding that spot inside, pressing hard. The drumbeat exploded. Pleasure detonated, seismic, radiating out from her core in blinding waves. She fucked herself with frantic urgency, seeking the peak, chasing the obliteration she’d documented but never truly felt like this, observed. Her moans were guttural, animal.
Chloe watched, utterly still. Her earlier amusement, her detachment, was gone. Replaced by a fierce, consuming intensity. Her breath came faster now, matching Eloise’s ragged gasps. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the mattress.
Eloise was close. So close. The room dissolved into sensation – the brutal grip of her own fingers, the slick slide, the driving pulse. She arched impossibly high. A ragged cry built in her chest.
Then Chloe moved.
Fast. Decisive. Her hand shot out. Not towards Eloise’s face, her breast, or her frantically working hand. Chloe’s fingers closed, strong and unyielding, around Eloise’s wrist. She wrenched Eloise’s hand out of herself with a sharp, wet pop.
Eloise screamed. Not pleasure this time. Shocked protest. The sudden, violent emptiness was worse than any denial she’d inflicted on herself. Her body convulsed, bereft. "NO!"
Chloe ignored the cry. Her grip was iron on Eloise’s wrist, pinning the slick hand to the mattress. Her other hand descended, not hovering, not circling. She pressed the flat of her palm hard, deliberately, against Eloise’s exposed, swollen clit. Ground down with her full weight.
The shock was electric. Cataclysmic. All the pent-up sensation, the denied release, the brutal emptiness – detonated at the point of contact. Eloise’s vision whited out. A sound ripped from her throat, primal, wordless, more roar than scream. Her body bowed off the bed, rigid, vibrating. Wetness gushed, hot, soaking Chloe’s palm and dripping onto the sheets.
Chloe held her there, relentless, grinding her palm, riding out the violent, convulsive waves of the seizure-like orgasm. She watched Eloise’s face with a dark, fierce hunger – the fluttering eyelids, the open mouth gasping for air, the tears tracking through sweat. Only when the convulsions began to subside into frantic shivers, when Eloise collapsed back onto the mattress, utterly spent, trembling like a plucked wire, did Chloe ease the pressure.
She lifted her glistening palm slowly. Looked at the slickness coating her skin. Her gaze, heavy-lidded and unnervingly direct, locked onto Eloise’s dazed, tear-streaked face. She didn’t wipe her hand. Slowly, deliberately, Chloe brought her palm to her own mouth. Her tongue slid out, long and deliberate, and licked a thick stripe across the center. Her eyes never left Eloise’s.
"Salty," Chloe stated, her voice thick, saturated with something Eloise had never heard in it before. A raw edge. Possessive. "And fucking electric." She lowered her hand, fingers still glistening. "Now. Tell me how that felt."