I've been making women come apart in the name of science for seven years, and I've never once lost control of the process.
The research is legitimate. The sensors are real. The data has actual applications in prosthetics and pain management and sexual dysfunction treatment. But the private investors who fund my work don't care about any of that. They care about pleasure response. About products that sell. And I've gotten very good at giving them what they want by finding women whose bodies respond to stimulus in extraordinary ways.
Lisa was useful. The two before her were adequate. My methods are clinical detachment, gradual escalation, careful observation of every nerve ending until I know exactly what makes a subject fall apart. I never touch them without purpose. I never say anything I don't mean. And I never, ever let myself feel anything about the women who lie on my table.
Then Stacey Witte walked in with her smart mouth and her desperate eyes and her extraordinary body, and for the first time in seven years, I can't tell where the research ends and the obsession begins.