Science Bitches

The lab smells like latex and nerves. You’re the one running the studies, the one who tells them it pays bills and buys time. Lily Lane climbs onto the table first. Her thighs spread, then she sinks onto you like she already knows how this ends. You hit the timer and she rides. Slow at first, testing depth, testing you. Kira Noir stands at the edge of the frame, watching, arms crossed, mouth tight. You reach for the cane. One stroke across Lily’s ass and her pace jumps. She gasps, clenches, keeps going. You count the marks. When she slows again you switch to the flogger, leather tails snapping against skin already turning red. Kira steps closer. You hand her the flogger. She swings without asking. Lily’s rhythm breaks into sharp jerks every time the tails land. Sweat runs down her back. Her voice cracks when she begs for harder. You edge her that way—stopping just before she comes, then forcing her back to the edge with another volley of strikes. Kira takes over the cane next. Each hit is clean, measured, cruel. Lily shudders around you, walls pulsing, close again. You let her ride until the last second, then pull out and push her down onto the table. Kira holds her wrists. You push back in and finish deep, filling her while the cane rests across her shoulder like a warning. The clock keeps running. Neither of them signs out.